“I saw her,” she said as soon as he approached. “Your wife. A few months ago.”
His stomach dropped.
“What do you mean?” he asked, crouching in front of her.
“She’s alive,” Emma said simply. “She was hurt. I saw her outside the city. She had bruises. She could barely walk. Another woman was helping her.”
Daniel shook his head slowly.
“That’s impossible. I buried her. I saw everything.”
Emma didn’t argue. She reached into her backpack and handed him a folded photograph.
His hands shook as he opened it.
Two women stood in the picture.
One of them was Margaret.
Pale. Exhausted. But unmistakably her.
The world tilted.
“When was this taken?” he whispered.
“Four months ago,” Emma said. “On the east side.”
Silence settled between them.
“She didn’t fake it,” Emma added softly. “Someone did it to her. They were hurting her.”
Daniel sat down heavily, staring at the photo.
Everything he believed began to fall apart.
“Why would anyone do this?” he asked.
Emma’s expression turned serious.
“Because she found something dangerous.”
He thought of Margaret—curious, relentless, fearless.
It made sense.
Too much sense.
He didn’t waste time.
That same day, he called his private investigator.