MY HUSBAND LOVE ME TOO LATE

Chapter 12: Who Sent The Photo?

Nobody moved.

Henry's phone was still in Emma's hand. She stared at the photo. Her fingers had gone numb.

"Emma." Lucas's voice was low. "Who is that?"

"It's me," she said. "A long time ago."

"Where?"

Emma looked up at him. Her mind raced through a hundred lies. None of them came out.

"I can't tell you here," she said. "Not with him in the room."

Victor's eyes narrowed. "Don't stop on my account."

"Get out." Lucas turned on his father, voice hard as stone. "Now."

"This is still my house too, technically—"

"Get. Out."

For a second, Victor didn't move. Then he straightened his coat, slow and deliberate, like he still had all the power in the room.

"Fine," he said. "But this isn't over. Someone out there knows her secret. And soon, so will I."

He walked to the door. He paused at the threshold, looking back at Emma one last time.

"Whoever sent that photo," he said, "isn't finished. People like that never stop at one."

Then he was gone into the wet dark.

The door clicked shut. The house felt smaller without him in it.

Lucas turned to Emma. His face wasn't angry anymore. It was scared.

"Emma. Please. Just tell me the truth."

Henry stepped forward, still dripping on the floor. "There's more," he said. "There was a note inside the envelope. I didn't want to say it in front of Victor."

Emma's throat went tight. "What did it say?"

Henry pulled a folded paper from his jacket pocket. His hand shook a little as he held it out.

"Read it yourself."

Emma unfolded it. Four words, typed in plain black letters.

"I KNOW WHO YOU ARE."

Below that, one more line.

**Meet me tomorrow. Alone. Or he finds out everything.**

Emma's blood turned to ice.

Lucas reached for the paper. She pulled it back before he could see it.

"Emma." His voice cracked. "What is going on?"

She looked at him. She looked at Henry. She looked at the door where Victor had just disappeared into the rain.

Somewhere out there, someone knew her secret. And they weren't Victor.

That meant there were two people now who could destroy everything.

"I have to go somewhere tomorrow," Emma said quietly. "Alone."

"No," Lucas said. "Absolutely not."

"I don't have a choice."

Headlights swept past the living room window. A car, slowing down outside the house. Then stopping.

Henry turned toward the window, frowning. "Were you expecting anyone else tonight?"

Emma's heart stopped.

The car door opened. A figure stepped out into the rain, face hidden under a dark hood.

And started walking straight toward the house.

The knock came fast. Three sharp raps.

Lucas pulled the door open before Emma could stop him.

Sophia stood there, soaked to the bone. Her mascara had run in black streaks down her face. She looked nothing like the calm, smiling woman who had turned the police against Emma two nights ago.

"Sophia?" Emma said. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you," Sophia said, breathless. "Before Victor finds me first."

Lucas stepped in front of Emma. "You have some nerve showing up here."

"I know." Sophia's eyes darted past him, out toward the dark yard, like she expected someone behind her. "I know what I did. I know what he made me do. But I didn't send that photo. I swear."

"Why should we believe anything you say?" Henry asked.

"Because Victor called me an hour ago," Sophia said. "Screaming. He thinks I sent it. I didn't. I've never seen it before tonight."

Emma's stomach turned. "How do you even know about the photo?"

"Because he described it to me," Sophia said. "A girl, young, standing in front of some building. He wanted to know if I recognized her."

"Did you?" Emma asked.

Sophia met her eyes. "No. But I think I know who did send it."

"Say it," Lucas said.

Sophia hesitated, glancing at Emma like she was bracing for a slap.

"Claire."

The name landed like a dropped glass.

"Claire wouldn't do that," Lucas said. But his voice wavered, the same way it had when Victor said her name earlier that night.

"Wouldn't she?" Sophia said. "She's been asking me questions for weeks. About Emma. About someone called Architect E. About a studio downtown that supposedly closed years ago."

Emma's whole body went cold.

"How does Claire know that name?" she whispered.

"I don't know," Sophia said. "But she doesn't dig for nothing. Claire only digs when she wants leverage."

Lucas ran a hand through his hair, pacing now, three steps one way, three steps back. "This doesn't make sense. Claire's my sister. She's stood by Emma since the wedding."

"Maybe she's not doing it to hurt Emma," Sophia said quietly. "Maybe she's doing it to protect you."

Nobody spoke. Rain dripped steadily off the porch roof behind Sophia, a slow, even sound in the silence.

Henry cleared his throat. "There's something else," he said, looking at Emma. "Daniel called me on my way over."

Emma turned to him sharply. "Daniel? Why?"

"He said someone reached out to him this week," Henry said. "Asking questions about an old project. About Architect E. He thought it was a journalist, at first."

"And now?"

"Now he's not so sure."

"What exactly did they ask him?" Emma pressed.

"Whether Architect E ever worked under a different name," Henry said. "Whether there were any personal photos from the early days. Whether he knew where she lived now."

Emma felt sick. "That's not a journalist. That's someone building a file."

"That's what Daniel thought too," Henry said. "He's scared, Emma. He said he didn't tell them anything. But he wanted you to know you're not the only one being watched."

Emma pressed her fingers against her temples. Too many threads pulling at once. Victor. Sophia. Claire. Daniel. The photo. The note. All of it closing in from different directions, like a net drawing tight around her.

"What about Margaret?" Emma asked. "Does she know anything?"

Sophia shook her head. "Your grandmother-in-law wouldn't tell Victor the sky was blue if he asked her nicely. She's the one person in this family he can't touch. And she'd tell you if she knew something. She likes you."

Small comfort. But it was something.

"Has anyone called Margaret tonight?" Emma asked. "If people are digging, she might know something without realizing it. She remembers everything about this family."

"I'll call her in the morning," Lucas said. "Not tonight. It's too late, and I don't want to scare her."

Lucas stopped pacing. He looked at Emma, really looked at her, the way he hadn't in months.

"I don't care about the studio," he said. "I don't care about the name. I care about who's threatening you. Tell me who Architect E is, Emma. Let me help you carry this."

Sophia looked between them, something unreadable crossing her face. Then she stepped back toward the door.

"I should go," she said. "If Victor finds out I came here, it won't be good for either of us."

"Wait." Emma caught her arm. "Why are you really telling us this? You could have stayed loyal to him. Kept your mouth shut."

Sophia's jaw tightened. Her eyes filled, but she blinked it back.

"Because he used me," she said. "The same way he's used everyone in this house. I thought I was helping him protect his family. Instead I almost destroyed an innocent woman's life on a police report." She pulled her hood back up. "I don't expect you to forgive me, Emma. I just didn't want another lie on my conscience."

She stepped out into the rain and walked back toward her car. Halfway there, she stopped. She turned around, hesitating, like she wanted to say one more thing.

"Emma," she called through the rain. "Watch Claire's phone. That's all I'll say."

Then she got in her car and drove off into the dark.

Lucas shut the door slowly. The house felt too quiet after that, the kind of quiet that rings in the ears.

"Watch Claire's phone," Henry repeated. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know," Emma said. "But it means Sophia's still watching this family closer than any of us realized."

"Do you believe her?" Lucas asked. "About Claire?"

Emma thought about it. She thought about Claire's quiet weeks, the way she'd stopped joining them for dinner, the way her eyes had lingered a little too long on Emma's face at the last family gathering.

"I don't know what to believe anymore," Emma admitted. "Everyone in this house has lied to someone tonight. Including me."

"Okay," Emma said, finally, turning to Lucas. "I'll tell you everything. But not tonight."

"Why not tonight?" Lucas asked.

Emma's eyes went to the window, to the dark yard beyond it, to the spot where Sophia's headlights had just disappeared down the road.

"Because someone's still out there," she said. "Watching. Waiting for me to make the wrong move."

Henry looked down at the note still crumpled in Emma's hand. "Whoever sent this wants you alone. That should scare all of us."

"It does," Emma admitted.

Lucas reached out and took her free hand. His fingers were warm against her cold ones. "Then you won't go alone," he said. "Whatever this is. Whoever's behind it. We face it together, or not at all."

For the first time all night, Emma let herself lean into that. Just slightly. Just enough.

"I'll go with you tomorrow," Henry offered. "I can wait outside. Close enough to help if something goes wrong."

"No," Emma said. "The note said alone. If they see anyone else, they might disappear. Or worse."

"Then we watch from a distance," Lucas said. "Not close enough to spook them. Close enough to reach you."

Emma nodded slowly. It wasn't a plan yet. But it was something.

As if on cue, a car engine started somewhere down the street. Slow. Deliberate. Not leaving circling.

Headlights swept across the ceiling, then vanished.

Then the lights in the house went out again.

Emma's breat

h caught in the dark.

"Lucas," she whispered. "Someone just cut the power on purpose."

Nobody answered. Outside, the engine idled, patient, waiting, somewhere just beyond the reach of the porch light that was no longer on.