PART 6 — THE WOMAN WHO KNEW HIS SECOND LIFE

For a moment, I thought I had misunderstood Dr. Hale.
“A relationship?”
“Yes.”
“With my husband?”
“Yes.”
“For almost two years?”
“That’s what she told me.”
I looked down at my son.
Two years.
My husband and I had celebrated an anniversary during those two years.
We had painted the nursery together.
We had sat on our bedroom floor choosing baby names.
He had held a positive pregnancy test in his hand and cried.
At least I thought he had cried.
Now every memory felt contaminated.
“What’s her name?”
“Lauren Bennett.”
I had never heard it before.
“Did she tell you how she knows him?”
“No. But she seemed frightened.”
“Of him?”
“I believe so.”

The officer across from me was writing everything down.
“Doctor, may I put you on speaker?”
“Yes.”
I did.
The officer identified himself and asked Dr. Hale to repeat what she had told me.
She did.
Then he asked, “Do you still have the number Ms. Bennett gave you?”
“Yes.”
“Please preserve everything she gave you, including any messages or documents.”
“I will.”
Then I asked the question that mattered most to me.
“Why didn’t she tell me herself?”
Dr. Hale was quiet.
“She said she tried.”
My stomach tightened.
“What do you mean?”
“She said she sent you messages.”
“I never got any.”
“She expected you to say that.”
I stared at my phone.
“What else did she say?”
“She believed your husband had access to your phone and email.”
A memory hit me immediately.
Three months ago, my husband had taken my phone for almost an hour because he said it needed a software update.
Afterward, several settings were different.
I hadn’t thought anything of it.
Then there were the passwords.
He knew most of them.
He had always said married people shouldn’t keep secrets.
Apparently, that rule only applied to me.
The officer asked, “Did Ms. Bennett say why she became concerned?”
“Yes.”
Dr. Hale hesitated.
“She found documents.”
“What documents?” I asked.
“She didn’t explain everything. She said she found a folder in his car with your name on it.”
My pulse quickened.
“What was inside?”
“She mentioned financial records, medical paperwork, and something concerning your house.”
The same three things.
Money.
Medical authority.
Property.
This wasn’t a collection of unrelated betrayals.
It was one plan.
The officer asked for Lauren’s number.
Dr. Hale provided it.
Then she said something that made my skin prickle.
“There’s another reason I think you should speak with her.”
“What?”
“She asked me whether your husband had ever told me that you were suicidal.”
My mouth fell open.
“No.”
The officer stopped writing.
Dr. Hale continued.
“He told me you had made statements suggesting you might harm yourself.”
“I never said that.”
“I know what you told me during your appointments. His description did not match what I observed or what you reported.”
I felt physically sick.
He hadn’t merely been creating a story that I was overwhelmed.
He had been making it darker.
More dangerous.
More useful.
“What exactly did he tell you?”
“He claimed you had said everyone would be better off without you.”
“I never said that.”
“He also suggested you sometimes became confused about whether certain events had happened.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
That explained something else.
Whenever we argued lately, he had begun saying the same sentence.
You’re remembering it wrong.
Over and over.
Sometimes about tiny things.
Who had paid a bill.
Whether he had promised to come home early.
Whether his mother had criticized me.
At first, I thought he was defensive.
Now I wondered whether he had been practicing a narrative.
The officer asked Dr. Hale several more questions before ending the call.
Then he looked at me.
“We need to contact Ms. Bennett.”
I nodded.
He made the call.
No answer.
He tried again.
Nothing.
My stomach tightened.
“Can you locate her?”
“We’ll work on it.”
Something about that answer frightened me.
If Lauren had discovered what my husband was doing and he knew she had discovered it, what had happened between them?
I looked at the bank transfers again.
The LLC name seemed to glare from my screen.
“What if the company belongs to her?”
The officer looked up.
“Lauren?”
“Yes.”
“Possible. But we don’t know that.”
I suddenly hated myself for the thought.
I knew nothing about this woman except that she had apparently been sleeping with my husband.
But she had also tried to warn my doctor.
Maybe she had tried to warn me.
I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to scream at her or thank her.
Maybe both.
Twenty minutes later, my son stirred.
I immediately forgot everything else.
I fed him while the nurse checked his vital signs.
His tiny fingers curled around mine.
I watched his chest rise and fall.
That was my anchor.
Not the house.
Not the money.
Not my husband.
Him.
My son.
Everything else could burn down as long as he was safe.
Then my phone vibrated.
A text.
Unknown number.
I opened it.
Please don’t tell him you spoke to me.
My heart stopped.
Another message appeared.
My name is Lauren.
I showed the officer.
He immediately leaned closer.
“Don’t answer yet.”
A third message arrived.
I know what he did to your money.
Then another.
And I know what the LLC is.
The officer photographed the screen.
“Ask whether she’s somewhere safe.”
I typed slowly.
Are you safe?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Finally:
I don’t know.
The officer stood.
“Ask where she is.”
Where are you?
No response.
Thirty seconds.
One minute.
Then:
I can’t tell you yet.
I typed:
The police are here.
The response came immediately.
NO.
Then:
Do not send them to my apartment.
I looked at the officer.
He frowned.
“Ask why.”
Why?
This time she answered with a photograph.
It showed an apartment door.
The wood around the lock was splintered.
Someone had forced it open.
My breath caught.
Then Lauren wrote:
I came home tonight and found this.
Another photo.
A living room.
Drawers open.
Couch cushions on the floor.
Papers scattered everywhere.
Then:
Only one thing was missing.
I typed:
What?
Her answer:
The folder about you.
I stared at the screen.
My husband was already at our house when the attack happened.
Had he gone to Lauren’s apartment earlier?
Had someone else?
The officer asked me to keep her engaged.
I typed:
Please tell us where you are.
Her reply came slowly.
I will. But first you need to understand what that company is.
I looked at the LLC name again.
What is it?
She answered:
He created it eleven months ago.
Another message:
He told me it was for a real estate investment.
Another:
Then I discovered he was transferring your money into it.
I swallowed.
I typed:
Is it his?
Her answer:
Not officially.
I frowned.
Whose name is on it?
Three dots.
Then:
Mine.
I stared at the message.
Lauren Bennett owned the company receiving my money.
The officer read it too.
“Ask whether she knew about the transfers.”
I typed the question.
Her answer came immediately.
NO.
Then:
He asked me to sign formation documents last year.
He said we were going to buy rental property together.
My stomach twisted.
So while he was planning a future with me and our baby, he had apparently been promising another future to her.
Then another message arrived.
I found out about your money three weeks ago.
I confronted him.
He told me you knew.
Another:
He said you were divorcing.
Of course he did.
I typed:
We were not divorcing.
She answered:
I know that now.
Then:
That’s why I tried to contact you.
I wanted to hate her.
Part of me did.
She had been with my husband.
But every message made the situation more complicated.
Maybe she had been deceived too.
Not in the same way.
Not with the same consequences.
But deceived.
The officer asked me to find out what evidence she had.
Do you have proof?
Her answer:
Yes.
Then:
More than he knows.
“What does that mean?” I whispered.
The officer said, “Ask.”
What do you have?
Lauren sent another photograph.
A small black flash drive sitting in someone’s palm.
Then she wrote:
Copies.
Copies of what?
Everything I found.
My heart started pounding.
Bank records.
Messages.
Documents.
Audio.
I froze.
Audio?
Her next message arrived.
I started recording him after I realized he was lying to me.
The officer pulled his chair closer.
Then Lauren sent an audio file.
He told me not to play it yet.
“We need to preserve this properly.”
I nodded.
Lauren continued messaging.
There is one recording you need to hear.
I typed:
What does it say?
Her answer took almost a minute.
When it finally appeared, I read it three times.
He talks about what happens after you’re admitted.
My mouth went dry.
What happens?
Lauren answered:
He says you’ll stay long enough for him to establish that you abandoned the baby.
I covered my mouth.
The officer’s expression hardened.
Then another message arrived.
His mother didn’t know that part.
That explained her reaction downstairs.
She had been involved.
She had participated.
But perhaps my husband had been manipulating even his own accomplice.
Then Lauren wrote:
He planned to tell his mother that you voluntarily left.
Another:
He planned to tell the court you were dangerous.
Another:
He planned to tell your family you had a breakdown.
My entire life had been assigned a different lie depending on the audience.
I stared at my son.
“What was he going to tell Lauren?”
The officer looked at me.
“What?”
“If everyone had a story, what story did he give her?”
I typed:
What did he tell you would happen to me?
Her answer came.
He said you were going away.
I stopped breathing.
Going where?
She didn’t respond.
Lauren?
Nothing.
Thirty seconds.
Lauren, what did he mean?
Finally:
I asked him that.
My hands shook.
And?
Her reply:
He smiled and said, “Somewhere she can’t interfere anymore.”
A cold sensation traveled down my spine.
The officer immediately stood and walked toward the hallway, speaking into his radio.
I looked at my baby.
Suddenly the hospital room didn’t feel safe enough.
My phone vibrated again.
Lauren.
There’s something else you don’t know.
I typed:
Tell me.
He wasn’t trying to get control of your house because he wanted to live there.
Then why?
Her answer came.
Because he already had a buyer.
I stared at the screen.
A buyer?
He planned to sell it immediately after the transfer.
My father’s house.
My home.
The nursery I had painted.
Everything.
But Lauren still wasn’t finished.
I typed:
Where was he planning to go?
This time she answered with a place.
A city hundreds of miles away.
Then:
He showed me the house he wanted to buy there.
I thought he meant for us.
My stomach turned.
Then she sent a screenshot.
It was a real estate listing.
Underneath it was a message from my husband to Lauren.
Once everything clears, we start over.
I stared at those words.
Start over.
He had apparently been planning another life while dismantling mine.
Then Lauren sent one final message.
At least, I thought it was final.
I have to move again. Someone is outside.
The officer rushed back into the room.
“Ask where she is now.”
I typed quickly.
Lauren, tell us your location NOW.
No answer.
Lauren?
Nothing.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Lauren?”
At first, I heard only breathing.
Then a woman whispered, “He knows.”
My blood went cold.
“Who knows?”
“I thought your husband was still at your house.”
“He is with police.”
Silence.
Then Lauren whispered something I couldn’t understand.
“What?”
“There’s a man outside.”
The officer motioned for me to keep her talking.
“Lauren, where are you?”
“I’m at a motel.”
“Which motel?”
“I can’t—”
A loud sound came through the phone.
Lauren gasped.
Then I heard pounding.
Three heavy knocks.
“Lauren?”
No answer.
Another knock.
Then a man’s voice came faintly through her phone.
“Lauren Bennett?”
She whispered, “Oh God.”
“Don’t open the door.”
The officer was already calling for help.
“Tell me the motel.”
Lauren finally whispered the name.
The officer relayed it immediately.
“Stay inside,” I told her. “Police are coming.”
The knocking stopped.
For several seconds, there was complete silence.
Then Lauren said something that made my heart slam against my ribs.
“He left.”
I exhaled.
But she wasn’t relieved.
Her breathing became faster.
“What?”
“He put something under the door.”
“Don’t touch it.”
“I can see it.”
“What is it?”
There was a pause.
Then Lauren whispered:
“A photograph.”
“Of what?”
She started crying.
“It’s you.”
I froze.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
My skin went cold.
“Lauren, what do you mean tonight?”
“It’s you being loaded into the ambulance.”
The hospital room seemed to disappear around me.
Someone had photographed me less than two hours earlier.
After police arrived.
After my husband was already being watched.
Which meant whoever had gone to Lauren’s motel wasn’t improvising.
My husband had someone else helping him.
Then Lauren turned the photograph over.
I heard her inhale sharply.
“What does it say?”
She didn’t answer.
“Lauren?”
Her voice broke.
“There are five words written on the back.”
“What words?”
She read them aloud.
“YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED QUIET.”……

Click Here to continuous Read​​​​ Full Ending Story:   LAST PART — The Baby Monitor Recorded What My Husband Said Before He Opened the Door