Untold Story

Chapter Nine: Her Name, His Lie

______________________________________

Trigger Warning:
 This chapter contains mentions of domestic abuse
______________________________________

Evelyn's POV

I sat slumped in my cubicle, one elbow propped on the desk, chin resting in my palm. My eyes were locked on the computer monitor as I clicked through an endless stream of profiles.

Isabel Thorne.
Isabel M. Thorne.
Izzy Thorne.
Isabel-with-an-E.

Each face blurred into the next—smiles, filters, dimly lit headshots. They were all starting to look the same. My eyes burned from staring at the screen, but I couldn’t stop. A half-empty cup of coffee sat beside the keyboard, long gone cold. I hadn’t touched it.

I let out a slow breath and rubbed my temples with one hand, the other still moving the mouse, scrolling mindlessly through names that might not mean anything at all.

“You’re still trying to find her?” Lisa’s voice floated over the cubicle wall—dry, a little teasing, but with that edge of real exasperation.

I didn’t bother looking up. “Yeah,” I said flatly. “Apparently ‘Isabel Thorne’ is the Jane Doe of social media.”

There was a pause. Then, Lisa again, more pointed this time. “Why are you even trying to find Isabel, anyway? Isn’t your case about the crying ghost boy? Maybe just... focus on that?”

I leaned back in my chair slowly, letting out a breath as I stared at the monitor. My faint reflection hovered in the dark parts of the screen—ghost-like, eyes hollow, skin pale under the office lights. Drawn. Tired. Obsessive. I scraped my fingers through my hair, the strands catching slightly between my fingers, and turned toward the cubicle wall, trying to blink away the exhaustion clinging to me like static.

“You’re not understanding,” I said, voice low. “There are too many loose threads. Why did she leave her husband? Why did she take only her son and leave her daughter? Who does that?”

I shifted forward, resting my elbows on the desk now, the tension tightening across my shoulders. “And don’t even get me started on the husband. There’s something seriously wrong there. The way Lila flinches around him…”

There was silence from Lisa’s side. Then, a skeptical: “How are you so sure she’s scared? Maybe she’s just shy. That’s what Kieran said.”

I opened my mouth, then stopped. My hands stilled on the desk. I stared at the worn edge of a notepad, unable to find the words.

“I’m sure,” I said finally, quieter. “Because I have—”

I swallowed, cutting myself off.

“It’s just a gut feeling,” I said. “That’s all.”

Another beat of quiet.

I let out a frustrated sigh, leaning back in my chair. “And I can’t even find her online. 

Lisa leaned around the divider, arching one perfectly shaped brow. Her nails tapped idly against her mug. “Maybe she doesn’t go by her husband’s name. Could be using something totally different. You’re basically throwing darts in the dark.”

“Well...” I moved the mouse, heart beginning to race. “Then I must’ve clicked on something.”

Lisa’s expression shifted, leaning in. “Wait—no way.”

“I found it.” My voice dropped to a whisper, almost reverent. Electricity buzzed just beneath my skin.

I turned the monitor slightly toward her. A small, circular profile picture lit up the screen—Isabel’s unmistakable face caught in that hazy, golden-hour light. Her head was tilted just enough for the sunlight to trace her cheekbone. There was something serene in her expression. Too serene.