Double Deception

Chapter 5: The Phantom Sister

Days passed in silence.

No calls. No messages. No explanations.

Emily's number sat unanswered in my phone, each missed text notification a hollow echo of what we used to be. The last words she'd spoken replayed in my mind — "You don't understand." I had begged her to make me understand, but all she'd done was retreat behind that calm, perfect façade.

And then the texts stopped. Not from her, but from Emma.

That was somehow worse. The stillness that followed felt like standing in a room after a fire — the smoke gone, but the smell still lingering in the air.

I hadn't slept well since the night I learned about Westbrook Psychological Center. The article, the mention of "identity fragmentation," the message that said She's both — it all gnawed at me.

If Emma really existed, there had to be something. Records. Photos. A trail of any kind. I wasn't just chasing ghosts — I was chasing the truth.

So I started where I always did — with research.

The Digital Trail

I searched everything I could find. "Emma and Emily," "Emily twin sister," "Westbrook patient list." Nothing.

Then I searched for Emily's full name: Emily Hartman.

Thousands of results. College photos. Professional mentions. Social media links. But the deeper I scrolled, the more patterns emerged — all the family photos I could find showed only three people: Emily and her parents. No twin. No second daughter.

It wasn't just strange anymore. It was impossible.

I dug deeper — local archives, high school yearbooks, newspaper clippings. Emily's name appeared everywhere. Honor roll, track team, student council.

But no Emma Hartman.

No twin. No sibling. No phantom.

And yet I could still hear Emma's voice. The teasing lilt in her tone, the flirtation, the secrets she whispered as if she'd always known me.

You're closer than you think.

My hand trembled slightly as I clicked through an old alumni website. Each page felt like pulling back another layer of someone else's carefully constructed life. I started checking medical and genealogical databases — public ones, paid ones, anything that could connect Emily's parents to two birth records.

There was only one.

Emily Grace Hartman.

Born 1988.

No twin listed. No sibling born that year.

The realization hit like a jolt of cold electricity.

If Emma didn't exist on paper... then who had I met?

The Visit

By Saturday morning, I couldn't take it anymore. My thoughts were a loop of unanswered questions and late-night theories. I needed confirmation — not from Emily, but from the people who might finally be forced to tell me the truth.

Her parents.

I didn't tell Emily I was going. I knew she'd try to stop me.

When I pulled into the cul-de-sac, their home looked exactly as I remembered — a perfect white two-story with trimmed hedges and blue shutters. The kind of house that screamed normalcy. The kind that could hide anything behind its curtains.

Emily's mother opened the door, surprise flickering across her face before she smiled politely. "Alex! What a nice surprise."

"Hi, Mrs. Hartman," I said, trying to sound casual. "I hope I'm not intruding."