Double Deception

Chapter 5: The Phantom Sister

The argument with Emily left me reeling. Her deflections and refusal to address my concerns had only deepened my suspicions. Determined to get to the bottom of things, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

I started with a simple search online. If Emma was Emily's twin, surely there would be some trace of her existence—a social media account, school records, anything. But as I scrolled through the search results, frustration mounted. Every mention of Emily's family led back to Emily herself. There was no record of Emma anywhere.

I dug deeper, expanding my search to include high school yearbooks, local news articles, and even genealogical records. Nothing. It was as if Emma had been conjured out of thin air.

This wasn't just unusual—it was impossible.

The Visit to Emily's Family

The following weekend, I decided to confront Emily's family. I didn't tell Emily I was going; I needed answers without her interference.

When I arrived at her parents' house, her mother greeted me warmly, her face lighting up with a smile.

"Always a pleasure to see you," she said, ushering me inside. "Emily didn't mention you were stopping by."

"She doesn't know," I admitted. "I actually came to talk about Emma."

Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she recovered. "Emma? What about her?"

"I've been trying to get to know her better," I said carefully. "But I realized I don't know much about her at all. Emily hasn't told me much, and I couldn't find anything online. It's like she doesn't exist."

Her mother's eyes darted away, and she busied herself arranging a stack of magazines on the coffee table. "Well, Emma's always been... private. She's not one for social media or anything like that."

Her response felt rehearsed, just like Emily's had.

"Where does she live?" I pressed. "What does she do for a living?"

Her mother hesitated, then gave a vague answer. "Oh, she moves around a lot. She's... in between things right now."

"In between things," I repeated, skepticism creeping into my tone.

Her father entered the room then, saving her from further interrogation. He greeted me with a firm handshake and a friendly smile, but when I brought up Emma, his demeanor shifted.

"Emma's not someone we talk about much," he said curtly. "She's had a rough time, and we try to respect her privacy."

The conversation grew increasingly uncomfortable. Every question I asked was met with evasive answers or awkward deflections.

"She's your daughter," I finally said, my frustration boiling over. "How can you not have anything concrete to say about her?"

Her father's jaw tightened. "We've told you what we can. If you want to know more, you should ask Emily."

That was the moment I realized they were hiding something.

The Missing Puzzle Pieces

As I drove home, my mind raced. Emily's parents had been as evasive as she was, offering no real answers and barely masking their discomfort. Their behavior only confirmed what I already suspected: there was something deeply wrong with the story about Emma.

I replayed every interaction I'd had with Emma, searching for clues I might have missed. Her flirtatious demeanor, her cryptic texts, the way she seemed to know things about me that only Emily should know.

And then there was the scar.

Both Emily and Emma had the same scar on their left wrist, a detail so specific it couldn't be a coincidence. But if Emma wasn't real—if she didn't exist—then what did that mean?

That night, as I lay awake in bed, I felt the weight of a terrible possibility pressing down on me.

What if Emma wasn't Emily's twin at all?

What if Emma was Emily?

The thought was almost too outrageous to consider, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.

Emily's perfectionism. Her need for control. The pressure she felt to maintain the image of a flawless relationship. What if Emma was her way of escaping all of that? A persona she could slip into to shed her responsibilities and indulge in behavior that her "perfect self" could never justify?

It was a wild theory, but it explained so much—the lack of records, the shared scar, the eerily intimate way Emma acted around me.

I didn't have proof yet, but I was determined to find it.

Whatever Emily was hiding, I was going to uncover the truth.