My Ex Husband Wants Me Back

Chapter 4

I’ve watched the video more times than I can count. A million might be an exaggeration, but only slightly. Every frame is burned into my mind: the footage, the darkened room, the hazy laughter echoing in the background. And the pictures—they're just as horrible.

I can’t look away, no matter how much I want to. Each image makes my stomach turn, but I can’t stop myself. It’s like I’m hoping that if I stare at them long enough, some hidden detail will reveal itself, some clue will magically appear and make all of this make sense.

But it doesn’t.

What does make sense, though, is the room. The hotel room in the pictures and the video—it’s the same room I woke up in. My blood runs cold as I realize this. I remember the confusion when I opened my eyes to the unfamiliar place, the pounding headache, and the confusion due to the man being in bed with me.

And now, as I compare the images in my hand to my foggy memories, there’s no denying it. It’s the same room. The same bed. The same nightmare.

I need answers.

Without wasting another second, I grab my bag and rush out of the store. My heart thuds against my chest as I flag down a cab. The Dawn Star club. It’s the only lead I have, the place Samantha and Nessa had taken me to that night. The night everything went wrong.

The cab ride is silent. My mind spins with questions, none of which I have answers to.

Why did this happen? Who are the men in the video? Why can’t I remember? And, most importantly, what role did Samantha and Nessa play in all of this?

I step out of the cab as soon as it pulls up in front of the club, barely waiting for it to come to a full stop. I enter inside immediately and my eyes quickly scan the room, searching for someone who looks like they might be in charge. A man in a suit stands behind the bar, directing the staff with the kind of authority that suggests he’s more than just a bartender. I go straight to him.

“Excuse me,” I say. He doesn’t hear me, so I try again, louder this time. “Excuse me! I need to speak to the manager.”

He looks up, looking at me with a confused expression.

“That’s me,” he says “What do you need?”

“I need your help. I was here a few nights ago, with two friends. Something happened, and I… I think someone recorded it. I need to find the men in the video.”

“What are you talking about? Are you sure you were here?”

“Yes, I’m sure. My friends, they brought me here. We were drinking, and then… I woke up in a hotel room the next morning. But I don’t remember how I got there.”

He frowns, glancing over his shoulder at the staff “Look, miss, I’ll help you if I can, but you need to calm down. Let’s go to my office. It’s quieter there.”

I follow him down a narrow hallway to a small, office. He motions for me to sit, but I’m too agitated to do anything but stand there, clutching the pictures and my phone in my hands.

“Can you describe these men?” he asks, sitting down behind his desk.

“I—I have pictures,” I say, fumbling with my phone. I pull up the images and hand it to him. He studies them for a long moment.

“These don’t look familiar,” he says. “But let me check the security footage from that night.”

He turns to his computer, and I watch as he goes through the files. My pulse pounds in my ears as he pulls up the footage from the night in question. I hold my breath as he fast-forwards through the hours, his eyes scanning the screen.

Then, suddenly, he stops. “Here,” he says, pointing to the screen.

I lean in, my eyes widening as I see myself, Samantha, and Nessa entering the club. I watch as we make our way to the bar, as we order drinks, as we laugh and dance. My heart skips a beat as I see the timestamp—this is it. This is the night.

But something’s wrong.

The footage continues, and I watch as we spend the evening in the club. We’re there for hours. But nothing happens. No strange men, no signs of anything out of the ordinary. Just three friends enjoying a night out. Eventually, the footage shows us leaving the club, entering a cab together. I wait for the next clip, expecting to see the hotel room, the men—but there’s nothing. The footage ends, and we’re gone.

“That’s it?” I ask.

The manager nods, looking at me with something like pity. “I’m sorry, but you didn’t stay here after you left. Whatever happened, it wasn’t at this club.”

I shake my head, backing away from the screen. “That can’t be right. I know I was here. Samantha—she told me we were here. She wouldn’t lie.”

But even as I say the words, I started to feel a bit doubtful. Would she lie? And if she did, why?

“I’m sorry,” the manager says again “I wish I could help you more, but I think you need to talk to your friends. Maybe they can fill in the blanks.”

I nod numbly, thanking him before leaving the office. The drive back to the motel is a blur. My mind races with more questions, all of them spinning around Samantha and Nessa.

Why did they lie? What are they hiding?

I try calling them again. No answer. I try again. Still nothing. I feel so frustrated and scared at the same time.

I have to find out what happened. And if my friends won’t tell me, I’ll have to find the answers myself.

I start my investigation throughout the next few nights. I go from club to club, showing the pictures to anyone who will look at them, asking if they’ve seen the men. Most people just shake their heads, uninterested or too busy with their own lives to care. A few give me sympathetic looks, but no one can help. No one has seen them.

Until, finally, on the fourth night, I get lucky.

I’m outside a random club on the edge of the city, ready to give up for the night, when I see him. One of the men from the video. He’s leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette, his face half-hidden in the shadows. But it’s him. I know it.

My heart pounds in my chest as I approach him, my hands trembling.

“Excuse me,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

He looks at me as he exhales a puff of smoke. “Do I know you?”

“I—I don’t think so,” I mutter. “But I need your help. Please, it’s important.”

He frowns, “What are you talking about?”

I pull out my phone, showing him the pictures and the video. “This. I think you were there. I need to know what happened. Please, I just need to understand.”

He stares at the screen for a long moment with an unreadable expression. Then, without a word, he pushes away from the wall and motions for me to follow him.

“Come on,” he says “We can talk in the back. It’s quieter there.”

I feel relieved at his words. He’s going to help. He’s going to tell me what happened. I follow him around the side of the building. Maybe now I’ll finally get the answers I’ve been searching for.

But as soon as we’re out of sight of the street, something shifts. He stops, turning to face me with a cold look in his eyes. The relief I felt moments ago disappears, replaced by fear.

“You really are stupid, aren’t you?” he says “You actually thought I was going to help you?”

I take a step back “What—what are you talking about?”

He laughs bitterly. “You really have no idea, do you? You’re just a dumb little girl who got in over her head. And now you think you can fix it? Pathetic.”

My blood runs cold as the realization sinks in. This isn’t going to end well.

“Please,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “I just want to know what happened. That’s all.”

He takes a step toward me “You know, I don’t like hitting women. But for you, I might make an exception.”

Panic spreads through me as I stumble back, my mind racing for a way out.

But before I can react, he clenches his fist and starts walking toward me.