Today Is My Husband’s Funeral. I Received An Anonymous Note Telling Me Not To Go. I Followed The Address In The Note And Found Him Having Breakfast With My Sister. What Should I Do Now?
The Black Notebook
Chloe returned to her house just as dark clouds began to blanket the sky, threatening rain. She carried the duplicate documents from the funeral home, which she had read at least five times in the taxi, still unable to fully grasp their implications. They hadn’t just forged her signature. They had cremated a body that likely wasn’t Ethan’s.
Who was in that box? Who had helped orchestrate this fraudulent tragedy? She went inside, locked the door, and didn’t turn on any lights. She walked through the dark house, her hands tracing the walls, touching the furniture as if seeking an explanation from them.
She passed down the hallway and stopped in front of Ethan’s office door. She hesitated for a few seconds before opening it. He had always been possessive of that space—his corner, his world. He never let Chloe clean in there, saying he would do it himself, even though weeks would pass without him touching a thing.,
Whenever she got too close, Ethan would raise his voice in that gentle but firm tone he used to set boundaries. That insistence now seemed more than suspicious.
The door creaked open. The office smelled of old paper, ink, and something else—a musty odor like humidity trapping secrets. Chloe turned on the desk lamp. Everything was just as he had left it. The closed laptop, the architecture books neatly stacked, the pens perfectly aligned in their holder. It was all too perfect, too clean, as if he had staged his disappearance down to the smallest detail.
She began to go through the drawers: work papers, old contracts, project blueprints, receipts. Nothing she hadn’t seen before. She opened the bottom drawer of the desk, the deepest one. Inside was a wooden box she had never seen, hand-carved with an old-fashioned latch. It wasn’t locked.
When she opened it, she found a black notebook, thick with a hard cover. No title, no name, nothing. She picked it up with both hands. It felt warm, as if it had its own pulse. She sat on the floor leaning against the wall and began to read.
The first few pages were filled with disjointed phrases, isolated words, dates, and numbers. But as she continued, the content grew darker, clearer, more real.
“Phase one: create emotional distance, reduce physical contact, avoid deep conversations, use work stress as an excuse. Phase two: normalize absences, frequent business trips, late-night meetings. Phase three: build alibis. Use Olivia as an intermediary. No one in the family will suspect.”
Chloe felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Her sister’s name was right there, in black and white. It wasn’t a suspicion. It was proof. A confession written with the cold precision of a surgeon. She kept reading.
An entire page was filled with notes about hospitals, doctor’s names, private clinics, contacts. “Find a legitimate death certificate. Bribe required. Serenity Meadows funeral home. Verbal agreement closed. Do not mention Chloe. Deal with me directly.”,
She turned the page and found something that made her stomach turn over.
“Olivia is unsure. Says we should wait. I told her now is the time. Chloe is emotionally vulnerable. It’s the perfect opportunity.”
Underneath was a date: September 7th. Two weeks before Ethan’s fake death.
She slammed the notebook shut. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. She wanted to scream, but not a single sound came out. He had planned everything. It wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision. It was a project. A project of disappearance. And her sister was part of the plan.
The Neighborhood Secrets
This wasn’t just betrayal anymore. It was a calculated emotional crime. She put the notebook in her bag, stood up, went to the coat closet, and grabbed a trench coat and an umbrella. She was going to find more answers.
She headed to Olivia’s neighborhood. The sky was releasing a steady, annoying drizzle, as if trying to wash away the world’s tracks. She walked the streets like a silent investigator, studying the faces of neighbors, the windows, the doors. She wanted to talk to someone, anyone who might have seen them together.,
She stopped in front of the small corner deli. A woman in her fifties was arranging boxes of fruit. Chloe approached her.
“Good afternoon. Excuse me. Do you know Olivia, the woman who lives in the white house on the corner?”
The woman looked her up and down.
“Of course. You’re the sister?”
Chloe nodded.
“Yes.”
“How long have you known her?”
“Since she moved in after her divorce. About two years now, I guess.”
“And have you noticed if she has a frequent visitor?”
The woman wiped her hands on her apron and lowered her voice.
“I don’t like to gossip, but since you’re asking… that tall guy with the dark hair and a bit of a beard? He’s always coming around at night. Sometimes he’s leaving when I’m getting here in the morning. Looks like he lives there. Never introduced himself, but you don’t need to guess. They’re a couple. It’s obvious.”
Chloe felt the lump in her throat grow.
“How long have you been seeing him here?”
“Oh, honey, for months. Maybe six, maybe more.”
“Are you sure it’s the same man?”,
The woman frowned.
“How could I not be? His cologne. I’ll never forget it. Same one my ex-husband wore before he left me. Those scents, they stick with you.”
Chloe thanked her in a weak voice and continued walking. She knocked on the door of the house next to Olivia’s. An elderly woman with a curious look opened it.
“Who is it?”
“Hello, I’m Chloe, Olivia’s sister. I just wanted to ask if you’ve seen a tall, dark-haired man visiting her often.”
The woman cut her off before she could finish.
“Oh, the one with the gray pickup truck?”
Chloe froze.
“Yes, that’s him.”
“Does he live there?”
“Well, sure. That’s what we all thought. He comes every night around 10:00 and leaves at 6:00 in the morning. Sometimes he’s gone for a few days. I haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks though. Thought they had a fight or went on vacation. I don’t know. Turns out he’s your husband.”
Chloe swallowed hard.
“No, he’s not my husband anymore.”
