Chapter 10
Hope
The cold, sharp air bites at my skin the moment I step out of Mr Jefferson’s door, one of the handful of home-care patients I’ve been assigned since starting my new role as a community health nurse in Sandy Vale.
My back and feet scream in protest as I stretch, trying to work the ache and tension from my muscles and joints, a familiar sensation after every nine-hour shift.
But what I really could do with right now is a glass of wine, a heat pack, and a good book, surrounded by my many plants—anything to help me unwind from these past few days.
I head towards my car, feeling anxious about the drive home. I hate that this is how I’ve been feeling ever since the message arrived, four days ago, from a man whose name meant nothing to me until that moment.
It came without warning, completely out of the blue, and even now I’m still trying to make sense of what he said.
I left him on read. What else could I do?
Pretend I trusted a stranger’s words at face value?
For all I know, he could be someone intent on messing with my family, and I can’t decide whether that thought should worry me more than the message itself.
I slide into the driver’s seat, tossing my tote onto the passenger side. As I buckle my seatbelt and turn the ignition, I catch sight of my reflection in the visor mirror and wince at the shadows pooling beneath my eyes.
A ping from my phone cuts through the quiet. I fumble through my bag to retrieve it, and when the screen lights up, I instantly see it’s a text from Adrian.
Hubby: Hi, baby. Have you left work yet?
Me: I’m just about to pull out of the driveway. What’s up?
Hubby: I got you just in time then. Could you stop by the shops to pick up some more milk and Cheerios, please? Our son seems to think he can survive on a diet of nothing but cereal.
Me: LOL! I’ve already told him he can’t have them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner all in the same day.
Hubby: Might be time to take out the padlock, then?
Me: LMAO! It’s okay. I’ll have another word with him. Anything else you need?
Hubby: Just your sexy self, home safe.
Me: Be there shortly.
Hubby: I love you x
Me: Love you, too!
I don’t know why, but knowing I don’t have to go straight home to face my husband brings an unexpected sense of relief.
It’s as though the stranger’s cryptic message has burrowed into my mind, unsettling me enough to make me second-guess everything I thought I knew about Adrian.
Which is ridiculous. There isn’t a thing I don’t know about him.
I’ve known him since we were teenagers. He’s never kept secrets from me, and I’m certain he wouldn’t start now.
He’s an incredible husband and a devoted father.
Whoever this Kaden Grant is, he can go to hell for making me doubt my own husband, even for a second.
I shift into reverse with a little more force than necessary and peel out of the driveway. As I head towards the plaza, I try to shove the stranger and his message out of my mind. But it’s hard to ignore the worry, confusion, and fear creeping in.
After arriving at the supermarket, it takes me twenty minutes to weave through the aisles, pay for the items, and dump them into the boot of my car.
Now, back in the driver’s seat, I don’t start the engine right away. Instead, I reach for my phone on the console, freshly connected to the charger. I switch it on, tap open my messenger app, and pull up the message I’ve been obsessing over for the past four days.
I’ve read it more than thirty times, yet I still can’t summon the courage to respond.
How do you even reply to something like that?
It’s not every day a stranger reaches out, hinting at secrets about your spouse, secrets you never even knew existed, and leaves you twisting in a mix of unease and disbelief.
And I can’t just pretend it never happened. Kaden’s message was deliberately vague, carefully worded to leave me questioning everything, and a part of me, desperately wants answers.
The only thing I’ve taken from his message is the part where he warns me not to mention it to Adrian. And I haven’t—nor do I intend to, because why stir up unnecessary tension? For all I know, this could be some cruel prank, designed to hurt and humiliate me.
Yet there’s that small, insistent voice at the back of my mind that whispers: what if it isn’t? What if Kaden really does know something about my husband that I don’t?
I scroll down to his contact details. He left a mobile number and an email address, both of which I’ve purposely ignored.
But the curiosity is killing me. It’s been four days, and I’m on the verge of ripping my own hair out if I don’t get answers.
Enough time has passed that I think—hope—I’m finally ready to speak to him.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I copy the number and paste it into the keypad. My thumb trembles nervously over the call button, and after a full minute of doing nothing, I back out instead, quickly exiting the screen and watching it instantly go blank as my resolve drains away.
You can do this, Hope. Just hear him out and after that you’ll never have to hear from him again.
After five minutes of hesitation and doubt, I force myself to go through with it, but rather than calling, I open the text message option. With my nerves frayed, there’s no way I’d manage a single coherent word if I tried to speak to him at this moment.
In seconds, a new thread lights up on my screen, and my fingers take over, saying what my voice cannot.
Me: Hi Kaden, this is Hope Turner. I’m sorry for the delay in replying, but I needed a few days to process everything you threw at me—which, by the way, was a lot.
I still don’t understand what your interest in my husband is, or why you felt the need to look into him at all.
He has never been in any kind of trouble.
Adrian is a devoted husband and father, well respected and loved by almost everyone who knows him, so I’m at a loss as to what you think you have on him that could possibly justify this.
Me: And FYI, I know my husband VERY well.
I certainly don’t need a complete stranger telling me otherwise.
If this is some sick joke you think is funny, I sincerely hope you get the help you need.
But if you’re actually being genuine, if you truly have information about my husband—then yes, I want to know what you know.
That said, I will not meet you in person.
I don’t know you from a bar of soap, and frankly, you could be a complete psycho.
There—it’s done. The floodgates are open, and all I can do now is wait for whatever follows.
I drop my phone back onto the console and turn the ignition on. The engine instantly rumbles to life, and a few minutes later I’m back on the road, the familiar stretch leading me home. But the closer I get, the heavier the silence in the car becomes, anticipation knotting my nerves.
I switch on the stereo and leave it on a random station, anything to drown out my incessant thoughts.
Just before I pull into the driveway, my phone rings. Kaden’s number flashes across the Bluetooth screen, like a stark warning. On instinct, I quickly decline the call, my pulse thudding as the line goes dead.
The instant I park and cut the engine, I rip my phone from the charger and furiously type out a text to Kaden.
Me: I can’t talk right now, so don’t call. We’ll communicate by text for now, at least until I can manage a conversation without feeling suspicious and uncomfortable.
A minute later, I get a response from him.
Wacko Stranger: I understand, Hope. To be honest, I didn’t expect to hear from you at all. But thank you for getting back to me.
Me: Oh, trust me. This is the last thing I want to be doing. So let’s not beat around the bush. What exactly do you know about my husband?
Wacko Stranger: Unfortunately, there’s just too much to explain over text. I’d much rather show you the proof myself, so you know I’m not making this shit up.
Me: What is this ‘proof’ you keep referring to?
Wacko Stranger: They’re mostly photos, but there are other documents too. I’d much prefer to go over them in person. I know it may seem like I’m being pushy, but given the gravity of the evidence, I want to make sure you have the opportunity to review everything and ask any questions.
Me: How can I trust you? I don’t even know you.
Wacko Stranger: We can meet somewhere of your choice. If you want to meet in a place directly across a police station, then I’m happy to meet you there. Anywhere, you feel the most comfortable and safest.
I gaze out through the windshield, weighing the very few places in my area that would be the busiest and best secured.
There’s a large shopping centre nearly fifteen minutes from my house.
The food court on a Saturday afternoon would be swarming with people, and with security officers scattered around, I’d have someone to call if I ever needed help.
Me: You said you live in Sydney, right? It’s going to be hard to meet up if we’re a couple of hours away from each other.
Wacko Stranger: I can come to you, if that helps. I don’t mind the drive. It might even do me some good.
Me: I do have a place in mind, but it’s up the coast, north of Sydney.
Wacko Stranger: That works. I can make it without any trouble. Just let me know the exact location, day, and time, and I’ll be there.
Me: Meet me at the Sandy Vale Mall, this Saturday at noon. You can wait for me at the food court.
Wacko Stranger: Too easy. Do you live close by?
Me: That’s none of your business.
Wacko Stranger: I’m sorry. I’m not trying to stalk you or anything. I just want to make sure the mall isn’t too far from your place. After you see everything and process it, I’m a little worried you might not be in the right headspace to drive home safely.
Me: I’ll be fine. I’m not a reckless driver, Kaden. I’m sure this is just one big misunderstanding and that there’s a reasonable explanation for it all. But for now, I’ll keep an open mind.
Wacko Stranger: Trust me when I say that once you see all the photos, they’ll be confirmation enough. There won’t be any room for doubt, that’s for sure.
Me: We’ll see. Anyway, I gotta go. I’ll text you when I’m on my way.
Wacko Stranger: No worries. I’ll see you Saturday.
I switch my phone off, not bothering to reply, and just stare at the blank screen. My nerves are taut, my pulse hammering fast and sharp, and a wave of nausea is slowly creeping over me. What the hell have I just agreed to? Am I about to make the biggest mistake of my life by meeting this stranger?
There’s no time to think before a sudden, loud knock on the driver’s side window makes me jolt in my seat. I spin towards it and see Adrian leaning down, eyes fixed on me through the glass, his expression tinged with worry.
I fling my phone into my tote and swing the door open, bracing myself as I step out to face my husband.
“Hey. Why were you just sitting in the car? I was waiting for you to come inside.”
“Sorry, I was just texting Mum. She wanted to know which plant would make a good gift for someone who isn’t exactly a green-thumb.”
“Oh, I thought it was something serious. You looked worried.”
“No, I was just thinking. You know I take my plants seriously.”
“Well, okay then,” he says, taking my bag from me and hooking it over his shoulder. “Zac is already at the dinner table. We didn’t want to start without you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright. You’re home now.” He brushes his lips against mine, then takes my hand in his as we walk inside together.
As the night wears on, I sit through dinner and a movie with my family, smiling and laughing in all the right places. But beneath it all, something tightens and coils in my stomach—something that, if I let myself dwell on it for too long, could consume me entirely.
All the while, I find myself watching Adrian a little more closely, studying him in the small, quiet moments when he’s not looking, hoping that whatever I learn on Saturday won’t shatter the beautiful life we’ve built together.