Double Deception

Chapter 15: The Weight of Love

 The envelope still sat on my kitchen table.

It had been three days since I found it—three nights since someone, or something, had slid it under my door at exactly 3:17 a.m. The message, scrawled in thick black ink, had said only:

Don't believe her lies.

The red lipstick mark on the seal hadn't faded.

I'd told myself it was paranoia, that maybe Emily had written it in a moment of confusion, or that Emma was trying to drive me away. But the truth was simpler, and far worse: I didn't know which of them to believe anymore.

The Haze

The days since our confrontation blurred together. Work became impossible; my phone calls went unanswered; food tasted like dust. My mind was a looping reel of memories and questions.

I replayed Emma's words again and again: You've been loving me too.

At first, I'd taken it as a taunt. But the more I thought about it, the more it unsettled me.

Had I?

Those moments of fire—those spontaneous nights when Emily had felt freer, wilder, more alive—hadn't those been the moments I loved most? Had I unknowingly fallen in love with both of them?

The line between Emily and Emma blurred like fog on a mirror, and the harder I tried to separate them, the less distinction there seemed to be.

Seeking Clarity

When the confusion became unbearable, I called Marcus.

We met at our usual diner, a place that smelled faintly of burnt coffee and old vinyl. The neon sign outside buzzed faintly, flickering on and off in the drizzle. Through the glass, I caught a faint echo of myself in the reflection—half a beat behind my movements. I blinked, and it was gone.

Marcus stirred his coffee, watching me over the rim of his cup. "You look like hell."

"Feels accurate," I said.

He waited. He always waited, letting silence do the heavy lifting until I broke it.

"I don't know what to do," I admitted finally. "She says she's getting help. That she's seeing a new therapist. But after everything—after Emma, the letters, the... whatever the hell that was—I don't know what's real anymore."

Marcus's brow furrowed. "The envelope still bothering you?"

I glanced toward the window. "It wasn't there when I came home yesterday. I didn't throw it out, but now it's just... gone."

He frowned. "You sure you didn't misplace it?"

"I'm sure," I said. My voice came out quieter than I intended. "It disappeared."

Marcus sighed. "Alex, listen. I can't tell you what's happening between Emily and... Emma. But I can tell you this: if you want any chance of clarity, you have to stop letting fear drive you. Talk to her again. Get answers. Real ones."

"You think I can still trust her?"

He hesitated. "I think you still love her. That's the part that's going to make everything harder."

The Call

That night, I stood by my window, staring at the streetlights below. The glow flickered in rhythmic intervals—three quick flashes, a pause, then one long pulse. The pattern made my stomach tighten.

I checked my phone.

A missed call. Then a text.

Emily: Please. Can we meet? I need to show you something.