The journalist sat hunched over a cluttered desk in the dim light of his small hotel room, his fingers stained with ink as he flipped through a stack of faded papers. The quiet hum of the fluorescent light above him did little to chase away the sense of unease creeping up his spine. His mind had become consumed with the mystery surrounding David, his sister Evelyn, and the cryptic words she had spoken in their last conversation.

He was staring at the court records now, his eyes scanning through old transcripts that barely seemed to make sense. There, tucked between the lines, was the first crack in the facade. He had found it—a mention of Crystal’s miscarriage, a sorrowful entry that seemed to follow her through various legal proceedings. Seemed that she had failed in a case to hold the hospital at fault.

There was something about the children. Evelyn had all but said as much. A truth that she didn't want them to know. He riffled through the notes he had taken while in the vital statistics office. There were no records of Crystal giving birth. It was as if the children had materialized out of thin air.

Frowning, the journalist leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. He had already combed through the town’s archives and scoured newspaper articles for any mention of David and Crystal's children. But the more he looked, the less he seemed to find. There were vague references to David being a father, but none of them gave any concrete details about the children themselves—no birth announcements.

Who were they?

The journalist grabbed another stack of papers—these more recent, from the town’s adoption agency—and began scanning through the names. There it was, buried in the long list of files: a small note indicating the adoption of two children by Crystal and David.Two years apart. The note, however, had been heavily redacted, and the names of the biological parents were missing, replaced only by a vague reference to a “confidential arrangement.” The more he stared at the document, the more the sensation of something being deeply wrong began to sink in.

He stood up and paced the room, frustration beginning to rise in his chest. Why was everything so obscured? Why couldn’t he find any clear answers?

Shuffling through the files, he laid hands upon a stray photo. David and Evelyn stood  together in front of a house. He hadn't been able to figure out where this photo was taken. But he could guess when. They looked young. Smiling and holding hands. Bare foot, wearing simple clothing. Evelyn looked healthy and vibrant.

His mind whirred as he mentally pieced together the fragments of information he had gathered. Crystal had a miscarriage. The children were adopted. But there were no records of their births, no clear documentation, and no traceable connections to their biological parents. Every clue seemed to point to one unsettling conclusion: someone was trying to erase their past.

With a growing sense of unease, the journalist made his decision. He needed to confront Crystal. She had to know something. And if she didn’t, maybe she had been kept in the dark, protected from the truth. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Crystal had been a part of this dark secret.

Before he could make another move, his phone buzzed, snapping him out of his thoughts. He glanced at the screen—it was a message from an unknown number.

“You’re digging too deep.”

The words were simple, yet they carried a weight that made his heart skip a beat. Who had sent this? And more importantly, how did they know?

He quickly typed back, trying to stay calm. “Who is this?”

A response came almost immediately: “Stop before you get hurt.”

The journalist’s blood ran cold. He wasn’t sure who was behind this warning, but he knew one thing for certain—he was onto something. Something big. And it was beginning to feel like the town wasn’t just hiding secrets. It was protecting them. And if they were willing to go this far, then this really was the kind of story that could establish is career.

He pocketed his phone and grabbed his jacket, determination burning in his chest. He had to speak with Crystal. He had to find the missing piece, the one detail that would unravel the entire web of lies. But now, with a chill running down his spine, he couldn’t ignore the feeling that the closer he got to the truth, the more dangerous this investigation was becoming.

He didn’t have much time. He had to move quickly.

Jack’s footsteps were heavy as he made his way back to Crystal’s house, the unease in his stomach growing with each step. He could feel it now—how tightly the threads of this story were pulling at him. Every bit of new information added a layer of dread, and yet, he couldn’t look away. The town felt like a pressure cooker, and the more he dug, the more he realized that something dangerous was simmering just beneath the surface.

Jack knocked once, the sound of his knuckles against the door sharp in the quiet night. He had come back, late again, unannounced this time. His mind was churning with questions that refused to settle. Crystal had seemed distant, guarded in their last conversation, but now he needed answers. He could feel the weight of the unsaid things hanging between them—about her children, the adoption, the secrecy.

The door opened smoothly, as if it had been waiting for him. Crystal stood there, framed by the soft glow of light spilling from inside. Her appearance was flawless. Her hair was perfectly styled, her makeup pristine, and her outfit—simple but elegant—suggested a woman who had everything under control. The kind of woman who didn’t have late-night visitors knocking on her door unannounced. And yet, she greeted him as though nothing were out of place, her lips curling into a polite, almost too-perfect smile.

"Jack," she said, her voice smooth, the edges of it touched with something he couldn’t quite place. “I wasn’t expecting you.” She didn’t step aside to let him in, but rather waited for him to enter, as if giving him a moment to reconsider. The house behind her was pristine and bright. Everything seemed... perfect. Like a living advertisement for domestic bliss. The kind of home you’d see in magazines, all clean lines, light colors, and meticulously curated decor.

Jack nodded curtly, stepping inside. The door clicked softly behind him. “Sorry for the late visit,” he said, the words hanging between them. He hadn’t expected to apologize, but something about the warmth of the space, the coldness in her eyes, made him feel like he had just interrupted something private. “I needed to talk to you about something important. About your children.”

Her eyes narrowed just a fraction, but it was enough. The subtle change in her expression told Jack that he had hit a nerve. Her posture straightened, and she folded her arms as though to shield herself from his intrusion. “What about them?” she asked.

“I’ve been looking through records,” Jack said, his words measured, carefully chosen. “The adoption records. And I’ve found something strange.” He paused, watching her closely. “There’s no information about their birth parents, Crystal. Just that they were adopted. No records of birth, no names, nothing."

Crystal didn’t flinch. In fact, her expression softened, but it was more like the mask of a calm ocean hiding something darker underneath. "They were adopted privately."

"So, you don’t know who their real parents are?” he asked. 

“David handled everything,” she replied, her tone a little too rehearsed. “It was a closed adoption. Private. We wanted to help a mother who was unwell. She couldn’t keep the children, and David—well, David was always very charitable. He thought we could give them a better life, and I agreed.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “So, you never asked questions? You just took the children in without knowing anything about where they came from, who they were? You didn’t even try to find out who their biological parents were?”

A flicker of something crossed her face—was it irritation? Or maybe a flicker of regret? It was hard to tell. But the tension in the room deepened, and Jack could see how carefully she chose her next words.

“I didn’t have to know,” she said evenly. “David made it clear that it was a private matter. A confidential arrangement. The mother was struggling, Jack. You can’t understand what it’s like to be in that position unless you’ve been there. She was sick, unfit to care for them. David thought he could do a good deed. And he did. He gave them a home, a future. Our children needed us.”

There was an edge to her voice now, something colder than before. It was the same tone someone might use when they felt defensive, cornered even, but she was trying hard to hide it. Jack felt the need to press further, to expose the cracks that were beginning to show in her carefully constructed facade.

“And you’re telling me you didn’t want to know anything about where they came from? Who their real parents were? Just—” he gestured vaguely, “poof, they appeared one day?”

Crystal’s lips tightened, the smile that had once been polite now gone. “No. You don’t understand. David thought it was for the best. He always did what he thought was right. I trusted him.”

“Trust,” Jack repeated, the word slipping from his lips with a bitterness he couldn’t suppress. “That’s convenient. You’re telling me you never asked, never thought to question anything about this? Who they were, who their real parents were?” He paused, letting the question hang in the air. “Or were you just so blinded by what David had given you, you never thought to look deeper?”

Her eyes flashed then, a quick, sharp anger flashing across her face. “That’s enough,” she snapped, her voice biting now, the edge unmistakable. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jack stepped back, his posture stiffening. “I know more than you think, Crystal. I know David handled everything for you. You never had to worry about the details, did you? Because he took care of everything. Even the part where he kept you in the dark.”

“Enough,” Crystal said again, her tone cold, her composure returning as quickly as it had fractured. “You have no idea what it was like, Jack. You have no idea what we went through. I couldn’t have children. I tried, but I lost them. I had a miscarriage. And then they took it all from me.” She looked away for a moment, her eyes glistening, but she quickly regained her composure. “A hysterectomy. The doctors had no choice. They couldn’t save me, couldn’t save us from the horror of it. I couldn’t give David the family he wanted. So, we did the next best thing.”

There was a weight to her words now, something heavy. Her voice softened, but her eyes were colder than ever. “You think it was easy? You think I was thrilled about my situation? It was my body, Jack. It was my life. I lost something too. Don’t stand there and judge me for not asking questions about the past.”

She glared at him. "David gave me a gift."

Jack took in a sharp breath, trying to steady his racing thoughts. The pieces snapped together, but something still felt off. Something still didn’t make sense. He could see her pain, her frustration, but there was something behind her eyes, a darkness that lingered. Was it guilt? Or was it something more?

“The truth, Crystal,” Jack said, his voice quieter now, but no less insistent. “I think you know more than you’re letting on. And you’re afraid to admit it. But you can’t keep hiding behind this story about David. You have to face it. You have to face what’s really going on.”

She met his gaze, her eyes narrowing. “You have no idea what you’re asking for,” she replied, her voice cold. “I don’t owe you any more answers. I don’t owe you anything. David made the decisions, and if I wasn’t involved in every detail, it’s because he didn’t want me to be. But I made the choice to love him. I made the choice to raise those children, and I will not let you make me feel guilty for it.”

She took a step back then, her expression hardening. “You can leave now. You’ve gotten the answers I’m willing to give you. Any more questions are just you trying to dig into places that don’t concern you.” She motioned toward the door, her voice now laced with finality. “You’ve crossed the line, Jack.”

For a long moment, Jack stood there, his thoughts racing. The silence stretched between them like a brittle tension, and he could feel the weight of her words settling around him. He had gotten what he came for.

But as he turned to leave, a small, unsettling doubt crept into his mind. Something wasn’t adding up. And for the first time since he began this investigation, Jack knew that the real story—the one that would uncover the truth—was far from over. Crystal might have closed the door on him for now, but something in the way she had spoken, in the cracks that had appeared in her perfect facade, told him there was more buried beneath the surface.

And he wasn’t going to stop until he found all of it.