The Lies We Tell - 7. Chapter 7

COLE

When I get back upstairs from the café I’m rattled. Surely none of what this woman said holds any weight. She’s just a stalker, like Michael said. I hope I won’t have to resort to calling the police on her. And the poor child…she needs to get help for the child’s sake.

I go into the kitchen and start washing the dishes, hoping to get my mind off of things. But my thoughts continue to race. What if…no, it’s not possible. But what if Michael isn’t the person he says he is. I turn off the water and go into the bedroom. Most of his personal stuff is in boxes inside of the walk-in closet. Papers, letters, pictures—I start going through them all. I pour everything out onto the floor. I examine every scrap of paper for the next hour, but nothing seems out of place. Not until I get to the photo albums. There’s Emma in a risqué pose on the bed. There’s Michael and Emma on some type of vacation. There’s Emma at a boutique opening. Pictures and more pictures. So he lied when he said they just went out a couple times. He had a relationship with her, and he hid it. What else did he lie about, I wonder.

This can’t wait, I have to speak to him right away. I put on my jacket and drive over to his office. I’ve never been inside before, so I approach the man behind the front desk.

“Which floor is NextUp on?” I ask, referring to the company he works for.

“5th floor, go right when you exit the elevator.”

“Thank you.”

When I open the door on the 5th floor I’m greeted by a female receptionist.

“Hi, how can I help you?” she asks, cheerfully.

“Hi, I’m looking for Michael,” I say. When nothing seems to register on her face, I add in his last name, “Michael Hamstead. I’m his fiancé, I need to speak to him for just a second.”

“Uhh, I think you might be in the wrong place,” she replies, confused. Obviously, she must be new.

“Michael, he works here. He’s in the marketing department, I just need a quick word with him.”

“There is nobody here by that name, I can assure you. I’ve worked here for five years.” We look at each other in confusion. “But let me check if he’s one of our freelancers that we outsource to,” she says, trying to be helpful. She clicks her nails on the keyboard of the computer in front of her a couple time and then exclaims: “Ah, yes! He freelanced for us for a brief period of time, but we terminated the relationship. Seems that he wasn’t honest on his resume,” she says as kindly as possible.

“I see…thank you,” I reply shocked.

I get out of the building and sit in my car trying to figure out what the hell is going on. If Michael doesn’t work here, where the hell has he been going to in the mornings? How is he earning money? My heart starts racing, this is surely all a bad dream. I will wake up any minute now. But the nightmare continues.

I do the only thing I can think of. I call Emma.

“I really didn’t want you to find out like this,” she tells me when I pick her up outside of her apartment 20 minutes later. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m stupid for not believing you.”

“No, you're not. He's a master manipulator, and he's done this to people for years. Don't blame yourself.” We sit in my car and she tells me everything. All the hell he put her through. I'm in complete disbelief that the man I was trying to build my future with is a con artist, a cheater, and an abuser.

“Where do you think he's at now?” I ask.

“I'm not sure, but we can check if you want. I put a tracking device on his car this morning. I needed to know where he was at so that he wouldn't come and surprise me again,” she says. She opens an app on her phone. “He’s at a residential address, here,” she hands the phone over to me.

“Let’s go,” I say and step on the gas.

We pull up to a lovely house with a lush front yard covered in pink roses. It’s a bit of an old-fashioned design, and I strain my brain trying to figure out what exactly would Michael be doing here.

“Maybe he works as a plumber and he was too embarrassed to tell me,” I muse.

“Not possible, he doesn't know how to fix anything,” Emma replies.

“Then what's he doing here?” We sit watching the front windows for another 30 minutes. Until finally we catch a glimpse of him, and everything falls into place. He’s shirtless and quite comfortable, and suddenly there is an older woman next to him. They kiss with passion. Emma and I look at each other in shock.

“This is how he’s going to get his next paycheck,” she says.

“I don’t understand. So, he’s lied about everything.” She nods her head.

“It’s what he does. He’s a pathological liar.”

I’m nauseated by the kiss, and I put the car in drive and speed away, back towards our brand-new condo.

“Can you…I can’t be alone right now. Will you come grab some things with me? I need to stay at a hotel tonight. I don’t have the strength to confront him.”

“Of course,” she says.

When we get upstairs, I start packing a duffel bag of necessities. Clean clothes, toothbrush, and my phone charger. Emma waits for me at the door. Suddenly, a slush of liquid hits the floor. Emma and I both look down to where a puddle of water is spreading between her feet. Then we look back up at each other.

“What…what is that?” I ask. She stands there in silence for a moment.

“My water, my water just broke,” she says, then bows over in pain.