Chapter 5 – Missing Pieces
1268 Words
Three days later, Adrian was discharged from the hospital.
The bruises across his chest had darkened into shades of purple and blue. Every breath reminded him of his fractured ribs, and every step felt like a punishment. But the physical pain was easier to bear than the questions that haunted him.
The doctors had recommended more rest.
The police had recommended a psychological evaluation.
Neither recommendation interested him.
He wanted one thing.
Home.
Maybe the hospital was wrong.
Maybe the police had overlooked something.
Maybe once he walked into the apartment, Evelyn would be there, worried sick, wondering why he'd disappeared.
Or maybe...
Maybe there would finally be proof that he wasn't losing his mind.
---
The taxi stopped outside his apartment building just after noon.
The familiar brick building stood exactly as he remembered it.
Mrs. Alvarez, the elderly woman who lived across the hall, was watering the flowers by the entrance.
She looked up as Adrian slowly climbed out of the taxi.
"Oh, Adrian!"
She hurried toward him.
"My goodness, look at you."
He managed a weak smile.
"I've been better."
She carefully hugged him, mindful of his injuries.
"I heard about the accident. I was so relieved when the police said you survived."
"The police came here?"
"They were asking questions."
Adrian searched her face.
"Did they ask about my wife?"
Mrs. Alvarez looked confused.
"Your... what?"
"My wife. Evelyn."
She frowned.
"I'm sorry, dear."
"I don't know anyone by that name."
His heart sank.
"You've met her dozens of times."
"I'm afraid not."
"I've lived across from you for four years, Adrian."
"You've always lived alone."
He stared at her.
The words hit harder than the crash itself.
She squeezed his shoulder gently.
"Take care of yourself."
Then she walked away.
---
The hallway felt unusually quiet.
Adrian unlocked Apartment 6B.
The familiar scent of cedarwood greeted him.
For a brief moment, everything felt normal.
"Evelyn?"
His voice echoed through the apartment.
No answer.
He smiled weakly.
"Very funny."
Silence.
He stepped inside and closed the door.
The living room looked exactly as he remembered.
The gray sofa.
The coffee table.
The bookshelf.
The television.
Everything was in place.
Yet something felt...
Wrong.
He couldn't explain it.
Only that the apartment felt colder.
Emptier.
He walked toward the bedroom.
His pulse quickened.
The wardrobe doors stood slightly open.
He smiled.
"There you are..."
He pulled them wider.
Then froze.
Only his clothes hung inside.
His shirts.
His suits.
His jackets.
The left side—the side that belonged to Evelyn—was empty.
Completely empty.
"No..."
He searched anyway.
Drawer after drawer.
Nothing.
No dresses.
No sweaters.
No scarves.
No pajamas.
Not even a forgotten sock.
He dropped to his knees.
"No..."
He yanked open the bottom drawer.
Empty.
The jewelry box on top of the dresser—
Gone.
The vanity mirror—
Gone.
The perfume bottles she collected—
Gone.
It looked as though no woman had ever lived there.
---
His breathing became ragged.
"This isn't real."
He stumbled into the bathroom.
One toothbrush.
One towel.
One bottle of shampoo.
His razor.
His deodorant.
Nothing else.
He gripped the sink until his knuckles turned white.
"Evelyn..."
The name sounded foreign in the empty apartment.
---
He rushed into the kitchen.
The blue coffee mug.
The one she'd claimed tasted better than every other mug.
Gone.
Only one white mug sat in the cabinet.
The refrigerator contained meals for one.
One carton of milk.
One bottle of juice.
One leftover takeout container.
No yogurt.
No almond milk.
No strawberries.
Her favorites had vanished.
---
He hurried into the study.
Maybe she'd packed.
Maybe she'd left.
Maybe...
The bookshelf caught his attention.
His novels filled the shelves.
But the romance section Evelyn loved...
Gone.
The framed photograph that had always sat on the desk—
Missing.
His eyes darted around the room desperately.
"No..."
He searched every shelf.
Every cabinet.
Every drawer.
Nothing.
---
His chest tightened.
The wedding album.
He sprinted—painfully—back into the bedroom.
The album had always been kept on the top shelf of the wardrobe.
He reached for it.
His fingers touched only wood.
The shelf was empty.
"No..."
He climbed onto a chair and searched every corner.
Nothing.
He searched beneath the bed.
Inside storage boxes.
Behind suitcases.
The wedding album had disappeared.
Along with every trace of the wedding itself.
---
He sat on the edge of the bed, exhausted.
Then something caught his eye.
The bedside table.
He always kept his wallet there at night.
He opened the drawer.
Inside lay a stack of unopened mail.
His passport.
A spare watch.
His checkbook.
He frowned.
The checkbook.
An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach.
He picked it up.
Something wasn't right.
Several checks had been torn out.
He didn't remember using them.
He reached for his phone.
His banking app opened after a moment.
He entered his password.
The account loaded.
Balance:
$417.26
His stomach dropped.
"No..."
That couldn't be right.
Two weeks ago, the account had contained nearly two hundred thousand dollars.
Years of savings.
Investments.
Bonuses.
Gone.
His hands trembled as he opened the transaction history.
Wire transfer.
$35,000.
Wire transfer.
$42,000.
Cashier's check.
$18,500.
Online transfer.
$56,000.
Another transfer.
Another.
Another.
Nearly every transaction had occurred over the last six months.
Every one of them bore the same note.
Authorized by Adrian Morgan.
"No..."
He shook his head violently.
"I never approved these."
He tapped one of the transactions.
Digital signature attached.
His signature.
Perfect.
Identical.
He stared at it in disbelief.
"Someone forged this."
But it didn't look forged.
It looked exactly like the way he signed every legal document.
Every contract.
Every check.
Every letter.
His pulse hammered in his ears.
He immediately called the bank.
After confirming his identity, the representative spoke politely.
"How may I assist you today, Mr. Morgan?"
"I've been robbed."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"There are transactions on my account I didn't authorize."
"I'll be happy to review them."
He waited.
The representative returned a minute later.
"Mr. Morgan, I've reviewed the transfers."
"Yes?"
"They were all completed in person."
"What?"
"Our records indicate you visited the branch multiple times."
"I was never there."
"The withdrawals were verified with your identification."
"I didn't make them."
"There were also signed authorization forms."
Adrian's mouth went dry.
"I need copies."
"Certainly."
"They'll be emailed to you shortly."
Within minutes, the email arrived.
He opened the attachments.
Each form carried his signature.
Each one included a security camera snapshot.
The first image showed Adrian standing at the teller's desk.
The second showed him signing paperwork.
The third showed him smiling.
He looked healthy.
Relaxed.
Comfortable.
He remembered none of it.
His gaze drifted to the final page.
Below his signature was another signature line.
Blank.
No Evelyn.
No joint account holder.
Only him.
He closed the file slowly.
A realization settled over him like ice.
This wasn't just about a missing wife anymore.
Someone had erased her from his life.
Someone had emptied his home.
Someone had drained his bank account.
And somehow...
Every trail pointed back to him.
He looked around the silent apartment.
For the first time since the crash, another emotion pushed through the grief.
Anger.
Cold.
Focused.
Deliberate.
If Evelyn had never existed...
Then who had taken his money?
And if she had existed...
Who was trying so desperately to convince the world that she never had?
Adrian slowly closed the banking app.
He wasn't going to wait for answers anymore.
He was going to find them.
No matter where they led.
- Writer
