Chapter 2 THE DEAD WIFE

CHAPTER 2: THE HUSBAND SHE COULDN’T REMEMBER

Cindy stared at the computer screen. Her photograph stared back at her.

She looked different in it.

Happy.

Her hair was neatly arranged, and there was a genuine smile on her face.

Cindy touched the screen with trembling fingers.

"That's me."

Officer Daniel stood beside her.

"Yes."

"But..."

Her voice faded as her eyes returned to the date beneath the photograph. Her stomach twisted when she saw the words: Missing for three years.

Three years.

It didn't make sense.

Cindy slowly shook her head.

"No."

Daniel pulled a chair closer.

"Cindy, please sit down."

She didn't move.

"This is wrong."

"The report was filed three years ago."

"No."

"Cindy—"

"I wasn't gone for three years!"

Her voice rose, causing several officers to turn and look at her.

Cindy pressed both hands against her head as her breathing became uneven. She tried desperately to remember.

Where had she been?

What had happened?

The last thing she remembered clearly was—

A house.

A large house with dark walls and long corridors.

Then a door.

A locked door.

Cindy gasped as a sharp pain shot through her head, and she stumbled backward. Daniel quickly caught her arm.

"Easy."

"Don't touch me!"

She pulled away.

Daniel immediately raised his hands.

"I'm sorry."

Cindy closed her eyes.

Something was coming back.

A memory.

She was standing in front of a mirror. Someone was behind her—a tall man dressed in black, his hands resting on her shoulders.

Cindy couldn't see his face.

Then his voice filled her ears.

"If you leave this house tonight, Cindy, there will be no coming back."

Her eyes flew open.

Karen.

Her heart began pounding.

Karen.

She remembered the name.

But why?

Who was he?

Her husband.

She knew that somehow.

Yet she couldn't remember their wedding. She couldn't remember falling in love with him. She couldn't remember anything about the man she had supposedly spent her life with.

Only fear.

Blood.

And darkness.

Daniel carefully watched her.

"Do you remember something?"

Cindy looked at him.

"My husband."

"Karen?"

She nodded.

"He said something to me."

"What did he say?"

Cindy hesitated, her lips trembling.

"If you leave this house tonight, there will be no coming back."

She swallowed.

"I don't know."

It was a lie.

She didn't know why she didn't want to tell him. Maybe because saying those words aloud would make them real.

Daniel nodded slowly.

"That's okay."

He returned to his desk and began searching through the missing persons file again.

Cindy's eyes moved back to the photograph. Her name was written beneath it.

Cindy Vale.

She whispered it quietly.

"Cindy Vale."

The name felt familiar and strange at the same time, as though it belonged to someone else.

Daniel looked up.

"Do you recognize it?"

"My last name."

"Yes."

Cindy repeated it.

"Cindy Vale."

She slowly sat down.

"I should remember my own name."

Daniel didn't answer.

There was nothing comforting to say.

After several moments, Cindy spoke again.

"Who reported me missing?"

Daniel stopped typing.

Cindy looked at him.

"Who reported me missing?"

His expression changed.

That was enough for Cindy to know something was wrong.

"Officer?"

Daniel looked at the screen, then back at her.

"Your husband."

The room became silent.

Cindy stared at him.

"Karen?"

"Yes."

She laughed, but it was a small, humorless laugh.

"No."

Daniel frowned.

"Cindy—"

"He was the one I escaped from."

"We don't know that yet."

Cindy stood.

"I told you he was going to kill me!"

"And I believe you're frightened."

Her eyes narrowed.

"But?"

Daniel sighed.

"But fear and memory aren't always the same thing."

Cindy looked at him angrily.

"You think I'm lying?"

"No."

"Then why are you defending him?"

"I'm not."

Daniel turned the computer slightly toward her.

"Your husband reported you missing. According to this file, he spent months looking for you."

Cindy stared at him.

"That proves nothing."

"No."

"It doesn't."

Daniel nodded.

"It doesn't."

Cindy folded her arms around herself.

She hated this.

She hated not knowing. She hated that every person in the room seemed to know more about her life than she did.

She looked at Daniel.

"Tell me about him."

Daniel was silent.

"Karen."

She swallowed.

"What kind of man is he?"

Daniel leaned back in his chair.

"I don't know him personally."

"But?"

Daniel hesitated.

Cindy's stomach tightened.

"But what?"

"He comes from a powerful family."

"What does that mean?"

Daniel didn't immediately answer.

That frightened her even more.

"What does that mean?"

His eyes met hers.

"It means your husband isn't an ordinary man."

Cindy felt cold.

Outside, thunder crashed.

Daniel lowered his voice.

"His family has connections."

"Connections to what?"

Again, silence.

Cindy took a step toward him.

"Tell me."

Daniel looked around the station before looking back at her.

"There have been rumours."

"Rumours?"

"About his family."

"What rumours?"

"Cindy..."

"What kind of rumours?"

Daniel sighed.

"Organized crime."

Her body froze.

For a second, she couldn't breathe.

Organized crime.

The words echoed inside her head.

Suddenly—

Blood.

A man lying on the floor.

Someone screaming.

A gunshot.

Cindy gasped and grabbed the edge of the desk.

Daniel stood.

"Cindy?"

She shook her head, struggling to breathe.

"I saw—"

"What?"

"I saw someone."

"Who?"

"I don't know!"

Her voice broke.

"There was blood."

Daniel came closer.

"What else?"

"A man."

"Who was he?"

"I couldn't see his face."

Cindy squeezed her eyes shut.

There was something else.

Someone was crying.

A woman.

No.

Was it her?

She opened her eyes.

"I want to go home."

Daniel looked confused.

"Do you remember where you live?"

Cindy's face fell.

No.

She didn't.

"I..."

She looked around the room.

"I don't know."

For the first time since entering the police station, Cindy felt completely alone.

She had no home, no memories, and no idea who she could trust.

And somewhere outside—

A husband she couldn't remember was looking for her.

---

Miles away from the police station, a black car moved through the rain.

The man sitting in the backseat hadn't spoken for several minutes.

His name was Karen Vale.

His eyes remained fixed on the phone in his hand. The message on the screen had arrived less than ten minutes ago.

We may have found her.

Karen read it again.

Then again.

His face showed nothing.

No surprise.

No excitement.

Nothing.

The man sitting in front of him glanced through the rear-view mirror.

"Should I turn the car around?"

Karen didn't respond.

The driver waited.

"Sir?"

Karen finally looked up.

"Read the message again."

The driver frowned.

"Sir?"

"The message."

The driver picked up his phone.

"Someone matching Cindy's description arrived at the Central Police Station approximately thirty minutes ago."

Karen's jaw tightened, only slightly.

"Matching her description?"

"That's what they said."

"Did they confirm it was her?"

"Not yet."

Karen looked out the window.

Rain slid down the glass.

For three years, he had received messages like this.

A woman seen in another city.

A woman crossing a border.

A body found somewhere.

Every single lead had ended the same way.

Nothing.

Karen looked back at his phone.

We may have found her.

His fingers slowly tightened around it.

"Where is the station?"

"Twenty minutes away."

"Make it ten."

The driver immediately pressed harder on the accelerator, and the car sped through the empty streets.

Karen leaned back and closed his eyes.

Despite everything, a memory returned.

Cindy.

Standing in front of him, angry, her eyes filled with tears.

"You don't get to decide everything for me, Karen."

His eyes opened.

He looked at his reflection in the window.

For three years, he had wondered if she had survived.

For three years, he had searched.

And now—

She might be alive.

But something was wrong.

Karen could feel it.

He picked up his phone and made a call.

The person answered immediately.

"Karen."

"Find out who brought her to that station."

There was silence.

"Her?"

Karen's expression darkened.

"Don't make me repeat myself."

"Yes, sir."

"And find out where she's been for the last three years."

The person hesitated.

"Do you think she remembers?"

Karen looked out the window.

That question had been haunting him since the message arrived.

Did she remember?

Did she remember what happened that night?

Karen's voice became quiet.

"I don't know."

The call ended.

The driver glanced at him again.

"Sir..."

Karen looked up.

"Do you think it's really her?"

Karen didn't answer. His eyes returned to the rain-covered window.

Then he whispered—

"My wife is dead."

---

Back at the police station, Cindy sat alone.

Daniel had stepped away to speak with another officer, and the station had become quiet again.

Too quiet.

Cindy looked at the clock. She had no idea what time it was. She rubbed her arms, but the blanket around her shoulders wasn't enough to stop the cold.

Then she noticed something.

Her left hand.

A ring.

She hadn't noticed it earlier.

Cindy stared at it, then slowly touched the simple wedding ring.

The moment she did—

Another memory returned.

Cindy was laughing.

Someone was holding her hand.

She looked down.

The same ring.

Then she looked up.

A man was standing in front of her.

Karen.

This time, she could see his face.

Dark eyes.

Dark hair.

A serious expression.

But he wasn't angry.

He was smiling.

Karen was smiling at her.

Then the memory disappeared.

Cindy pulled her hand away from the ring, her heart racing.

"No."

Why would she remember him smiling?

Why would she remember feeling—

Safe?

Cindy looked around.

"No."

She shook her head.

"He was going to kill me."

She said it again, louder this time.

"He was going to kill me."

But something inside her didn't completely believe it.

And that terrified her.

---

Daniel returned.

"Cindy?"

She looked at him.

He was holding his phone, and his expression was serious.

"What happened?"

Daniel hesitated.

"We contacted your husband."

Cindy immediately stood.

"No."

"Cindy—"

"No!"

She backed away.

"Where is he?"

"He knows you're here."

Her face went pale.

"Please."

"Cindy, listen—"

"Don't let him come near me."

Daniel walked toward her.

"I need you to calm down."

"He'll kill me!"

The front door of the police station suddenly opened.

Everyone turned.

Cindy stopped breathing.

A man entered.

Not Karen.

Just another police officer.

Cindy released a shaky breath, but her knees still felt weak.

Daniel looked at her.

"He's not here yet."

Yet.

The word frightened her.

Cindy stared at the door, then at the windows. Every shadow suddenly looked dangerous. Every sound made her jump.

She knew he was coming.

She could feel it.

Karen was coming.

And she had no idea whether she wanted to run from him—

Or run toward him.

---

Outside the police station, a black car finally stopped.

The engine went silent.

Karen remained in the backseat, looking through the rain-covered window at the building across the street.

Inside it—

Possibly—

His wife.

Alive.

After three years.

His hand moved toward the door.

Then stopped.

His phone vibrated.

A new message.

Karen opened it.

His expression changed.

For the first time that night, genuine emotion appeared in his eyes.

The message contained only six words.

SHE DOESN'T REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED.

Karen stared at the screen.

Then slowly looked toward the police station.

His voice was barely audible.

"What did they do to you, Cindy?"