Chapter 12: The Woman David Chose Before He Chose Me
I read the transcript three times.
Not because I didn’t understand the words.
Because I understood them too well.
*“David, you cannot do this to another woman.””*
Another woman.
Those two words changed everything.
Until that moment, I had believed I was the beginning of David’s plan.
The first person he decided to control.
The first person whose trust he used.
But the recording suggested something much darker.
I wasn’t the beginning.
I was part of a pattern.
A pattern that started before I ever knew his name.
I sat at the kitchen table while Detective Martinez listened on the phone.
“What else does the transcript say?””
I looked at the printed pages in front of me.
“I don’t know if I’m ready.””
There was a pause.
Then she said something I did not expect.
“You don’t have to be ready to learn the truth.””
I closed my eyes.
Because that was exactly what I had been trying to avoid.
The truth hurt.
The truth destroyed the version of my life I had built.
But lies had already taken enough from me.
I continued reading.
The hidden section began several minutes after the original recording ended.
The audio quality was worse.
There was more background noise.
But the voices were clear.
Mark.
And David.
Mark sounded exhausted.
“You don’t understand what you’re doing.””
David answered:
“I understand perfectly.””
“You’re repeating the same mistake.””
“No.””
A pause.
“I’m improving the process.””
My heart stopped.
Improving the process.
Like people were not people.
Like they were problems to solve.
Mark’s voice became angry.
“She trusted you.””
David laughed.
“They always do.””
I felt a cold wave move through me.
They.
Not her.
Not one person.
They.
The recording continued.
“She thinks you love her.””
“I do.””
“No, David. You love what she provides.””
Silence.
Then David said:
“You never understood business.””
Mark replied:
“This isn’t business.””
Another pause.
“This is someone’s life.””
I stared at the words.
Someone’s life.
Mine.
The recording continued.
“Who was the first?”” Mark asked.
David didn’t answer.
“Who was she?””
Silence.
Then David said:
“That’s not your concern.””
“You destroyed her.””
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.””
“I know enough.””
The audio became unclear for several seconds.
Then Mark’s voice returned.
“You’re doing the same thing again.””
David replied:
“She’s different.””
My hands tightened.
“She?””
Mark asked:
“Who?””
No answer.
Then:
“You know exactly who.””
The recording ended there.
No name.
No explanation.
Just enough information to open another door.
I called Detective Martinez.
“Do you know who he was talking about?””
“Not yet.””
“Do you think it was another wife?””
“We’re investigating.””
I looked at the transcript.
Another woman.
Another plan.
Another victim.
“Find her.””
“We’re trying.””
“No.””
My voice surprised me.
“I need you to find her.””
There was silence.
Then:
“We will.””
After the call ended, I sat there staring at the wall.
My mother came into the room.
She immediately knew something was wrong.
“What happened?””
I handed her the transcript.
She read silently.
When she finished, she looked up.
“Oh, Sarah.””
I hated that expression.
The sadness.
The pity.
Not because she was wrong.
Because I knew she was seeing something I had refused to see.
“I thought I knew him.””
My mother sat beside me.
“I know.””
“No, I really thought I knew him.””
Tears filled my eyes.
“I knew his favorite food. His habits. The way he liked his coffee. The stories from his childhood.””
My voice broke.
“I knew everything except the truth.””
My mother held my hand.
“That is not because you didn’t care.””
“Then why?””
“Because he didn’t show you.””
I looked down.
And for the first time, I stopped blaming myself.
That was a strange feeling.
Like putting down a heavy bag I had carried for years.
The next day, Detective Martinez found something.
Not the woman.
Not yet.
But something connected to her.
A name.
“Claire Bennett.””
I stared at the screen.
“Who is she?””
“She was connected to David eight years ago.””
“Before me?””
“Yes.””
My stomach tightened.
“What happened?””
“She worked at a financial firm that partnered with David’s company.””
“Partnered?””
“Yes.””
“And?””
“She accused him of manipulating financial records.””
I felt my chest tighten.
Another accusation.
Another person who saw him.
“What happened to her?””
“She withdrew the complaint.””
“Why?””
Detective Martinez looked at me.
“She said she was afraid.””
The same answer.
Always the same.
Afraid.
“What happened after?””
“She moved.””
“Where?””
“That’s what we’re trying to determine.””
I looked at the name.
Claire Bennett.
Another woman.
Another person whose life intersected with David’s secrets.
I wondered how many names existed.
How many people had been hurt.
How many stories had been buried.
That evening, I received a call from an unknown number.
I answered cautiously.
“Hello?””
A woman’s voice.
Quiet.
Shaking.
“Is this Sarah Carter?””
My heart raced.
“Yes.””
“My name is Claire Bennett.””
I stood up immediately.
“You’re Claire?””
A pause.
“Yes.””
“Are you safe?””
The question came out before I could stop it.
A strange thing.
A few months ago, I would have asked:
Who are you?
Why are you calling?
What do you want?
Now I asked if she was safe.
Because I understood.
“I don’t know.””
The answer scared me.
“What do you mean?””
“I mean I spent years thinking I was safe.””
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Claire, what happened?””
“I knew David before you.””
“I know.””
Silence.
“He told you?””
“No.””
“Then how?””
“Because I found records.””
Another silence.
Then she said:
“You need to understand something about David.””
“What?””
“He doesn’t choose people randomly.””
I felt cold.
“What does that mean?””
“He studies them.””
My breath caught.
“Studies?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“To find their weaknesses.””
The room seemed smaller.
“What was mine?””
Claire’s voice softened.
“Your trust.””
I closed my eyes.
Because I knew.
“She told me he planned things before marriage.””
“Yes.””
“He planned me?””
“Yes.””
The answer hurt even though I already knew.
“What about you?””
Claire was quiet.
Then:
“He planned me too.””
I sat down.
“What happened?””
“He convinced me I was lucky to have him.””
The words sounded painfully familiar.
“He told me I was talented but needed guidance.””
The same.
“He slowly moved into every part of my life.””
The same.
“Then?””
“Then he started using my access to information.””
My stomach tightened.
“Your work?””
“Yes.””
“Did he use you for money?””
“Yes.””
I looked out the window.
The same story.
Different woman.
Different time.
Same man.
“Why did you disappear?””
Claire took a shaky breath.
“Because I discovered what he was doing.””
“What?””
“That he had been collecting information about people.””
“Information?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“To control them.””
The word hung in the air.
Control.
The center of everything.
Claire continued.
“He kept files.””
My eyes widened.
“Files?””
“Yes.””
“About who?””
“Everyone important to him.””
I remembered David’s notebook.
My name written over and over.
“What kind of files?””
“Personal information.””
“Like what?””
“Financial records. Relationships. Weaknesses.””
I felt sick.
“He kept them?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“Because he believed everyone had a breaking point.””
My hands went cold.
“And what was mine?””
Claire paused.
Then:
“Your baby.””
The room became silent.
Because suddenly, everything made sense.
The spending arguments.
The financial control.
The obsession with appearances.
The pressure.
The perfect family image.
The baby was not just something he wanted.
The baby was part of his plan.
“No.””
I whispered it.
But I knew.
Claire continued:
“He told me years ago that having a family would make him look untouchable.””
My heart shattered.
“He said that?””
“Yes.””
“When?””
“Before you met him.””
I covered my mouth.
Because I could finally see the entire picture.
David didn’t just want a wife.
He wanted a story.
A successful man.
A beautiful home.
A pregnant wife.
A perfect image.
Something nobody would question.
Something that would protect him.
I ended the call after promising Claire Detective Martinez would contact her.
Then I sat alone.
The baby moved beneath my hand.
I placed my palm over my stomach.
For weeks, I had wondered what kind of father David would be.
Now I understood the terrifying truth.
He never saw our son as a child.
He saw him as part of the image.
A piece of the plan.
A shield.
A way to appear like a good man.
The next morning, Detective Martinez arrived with a new file.
She placed it in front of me.
“We found the original planning documents.””
I looked at her.
“Planning documents?””
“Yes.””
“About what?””
She opened the folder.
The first page had David’s handwriting.
A list.
Names.
Dates.
Goals.
My eyes moved down.
Then froze.
At the top of the page was a title.
*Long-Term Strategy: Reputation Protection and Asset Security*
Below it were several names.
Claire Bennett.
Emily Hart.
Rachel Carter.
And then mine.
Sarah Carter.
My breathing stopped.
But there was one final line beneath my name.
A line that made my blood run cold.
Because it was written before I ever met David.
Before we dated.
Before we married.
Before I was pregnant.
*Objective: Create the perfect family image.*
I stared at the words.
And finally understood.
May you like
The baby blanket had never started the nightmare.
It only exposed the nightmare that had been planned long before I arrived.
