While I waited outside the school gates, another parent leaned over and whispered, “Did your ex-husband have a beard?” My stomach dropped. “Why?” I asked. She hesitated, then said, “Because a man who looks exactly like him has been picking up a child here. Every day.” I laughed it off—until I saw the photo. My hands shook as one thought hit me: if that wasn’t my ex… then who was he really taking home?
3:00 PM – A Drizzle
The November rain in Seattle never truly stops. It lingers, damp and gray, turning the long line of SUVs waiting to pick up their children outside Oak Creek Elementary School into a sluggish, smoke-emitting iron dragon.
I pulled up the collar of my trench coat, trying to cover half my face. Not because of the cold, but out of habit. It’s been three years since my divorce from Richard, but the feeling of being watched has never really gone away. Richard was a narcissist, violent, and manipulative. He’s serving a 10-year sentence in state prison for assault and financial fraud. My son, Leo, and I moved to this town to start over, under a new name.
“It’s so cold, isn’t it?”
I jumped. Standing beside me was Brenda, a mother in the parent-teacher association. She was known as the school’s “radio station,” knowing everything from the lunch menu to who was having an affair with whom.
“Yeah, it’s really cold,” I replied politely, my eyes still fixed on the closed school gate.
Brenda moved closer, her strong vanilla cologne overpowering the smell of the rain. She lowered her voice, whispering mysteriously:
“Hey, I have a slightly sensitive question… Did your ex-husband have a beard?”
My stomach tightened. A conditioned reflex. Mentioning Richard always made my stomach ache.
“Why?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm, my hand gripping the umbrella tightly.
Brenda hesitated for a moment, glancing around as if afraid someone might overhear. “Because there’s a man who looks exactly like him who comes to pick up a child here. Every day. But I remember in the photo you submitted to the parent-teacher association, your ex-husband was clean-shaven.”
I chuckled, a dry, forced laugh. “Brenda, my ex-husband is in… California. You must be mistaken. Look-alikes are common.”
I didn’t say he was in jail. I didn’t want Leo to be stigmatized.
“No way,” Brenda shook her head emphatically, pulling her iPhone out of her Louis Vuitton bag. “My intuition is never wrong. I secretly took a picture yesterday. Look.”
She held the phone screen up in front of me.
The smile on my face vanished.
In the blurry photo, taken through the rain, a man was leaning against an old black sedan in a secluded corner across the street. He was wearing a worn brown leather jacket – the one I’d bought Richard for his birthday five years ago. His posture was slightly hunched, the way he held the cigarette between his index finger and thumb…
It was Richard.
There was no mistaking it. But Brenda was right, he had a beard. A thick, salt-and-pepper beard made him look a decade older.
“Who…who is he picking up?” I asked, my voice trembling uncontrollably.
“That’s the strange thing,” Brenda scrolled to the next photo. “He always picks up this girl. Her name is Sophie, she’s in class 2B. A very well-behaved girl, but not very talkative.”
In the second photo, the man was holding a blonde girl’s hand, leading her to a car. He leaned down, whispering something in her ear. The girl wasn’t smiling; her face was stiff and expressionless.
My mind reeled. Had Richard escaped from prison? Or had he been granted early release without my knowledge? Why was he here? And who was Sophie? Did he have a child with someone else? Or had he remarried?
But one detail in the photo made me stop.
I snatched Brenda’s phone and zoomed in on the image of the man’s hand resting on the girl’s shoulder.
His ring finger. It was intact.
Richard lost the ring finger of his left hand in a work accident when he was 30. He always wore a large ring to cover up that defect. But the man in this photo… his finger was long and complete.
My hands trembled, almost dropping my phone.
If it wasn’t my ex-husband…
If it was an imposter, Richard, wearing Richard’s clothes, mimicking Richard’s mannerisms…
Then who was he really? And more importantly… who was he bringing home?
3:15 PM – The Horrifying Truth
The school bell rang, interrupting my chaotic thoughts. The gate opened, and the children swarmed out like a hive of bees.
I looked across the street. That black sedan appeared again. The man with the bushy beard stepped out.
He stood there, in the rain, looking toward the school gate. He looked terrifyingly like Richard. If it weren’t for the detail of the finger, I would have collapsed in fear.
And then, I saw Sophie.
A small, blonde girl stepped out of the gate. She wasn’t running and jumping like the other children. She walked slowly, head down, straight toward the man like a programmed puppet.
I needed to see better.
I dashed across the street, ignoring the blaring car horns. Brenda shouted my name behind me, but I didn’t care.
As I approached the black car, the man opened the door for Sophie.
“Sophie!” I called out, unconsciously.
She startled and turned around. Her bright blue eyes widened, filled with primal fear.
And when I looked directly into her face at close range, my heart stopped.
It wasn’t Sophie.
On the little girl’s neck, peeking out from behind her uniform collar, was a small, star-shaped birthmark.
That was Emily Vance’s birthmark.
Emily
Vance, the daughter of the Washington State Supreme Court Justice who sentenced Richard to 10 years in prison. Emily Vance, the child reportedly sent to a boarding school in Switzerland six months ago to avoid gang revenge.
Why was the Justice’s daughter here, at this ordinary public school, under the name Sophie?
The man looked up at me. Beneath the pulled-down brim of his baseball cap, I saw a pair of cold, ruthless eyes. Not Richard’s eyes. They were the eyes of a killer.
He realized I knew.
He shoved Emily (or Sophie) into the car, then pulled something dark from his leather jacket pocket.
A silenced gun.
“Get in,” he growled, no longer mimicking Richard’s voice. “Or I’ll blow your brains out right here.”
3:30 PM – The Death Ride
I was pushed into the back seat, next to Emily. The little girl trembled, clinging tightly to the corner of the door.
The car sped away in the rain, leaving the school behind.
“Who are you?” I asked, trying to remain calm despite my churning insides. “Why are you pretending to be my husband?”
The driver looked at me in the rearview mirror, smirking. He raised his hand to his chin and ripped off his fake beard.
“I’m not pretending to be your husband. I’m just using the ‘normal dad’ cover to pick up this girl every day without anyone suspecting anything.”
He was Marcus, Richard’s younger brother. The one Richard always forbade me from mentioning. An addict, in debt, and even crazier than his brother.
“Richard wants to get out of prison early,” Marcus said, his tone casual as if discussing the weather. “Judge Vance is very stubborn. He refused the appeal. So we have to find a way… to convince him.”
I looked at Emily. She wasn’t sent to Switzerland. The little girl has been kidnapped for six months now.
They’ve orchestrated a perfect play. They brainwashed Emily, renamed her Sophie, sent her to a strange school, and Marcus played the role of the dad who drove her there every day. They held the hostage right under the noses of the police, right in the community, under the guise of a normal life.
“Why this school?” I whispered.
“Because you’re here, sister-in-law,” Marcus laughed loudly. “This is Richard’s extra reward. He wants me to keep an eye on you. He wants to know if you’re happy while he’s rotting away in prison. And even better, if anything happens to this girl… the police will find Richard’s fingerprints on the car (from the old shirt), and witnesses will swear they saw ‘Richard’ picking her up. My brother will take the blame for me, or we’ll both drag you down to hell.”
He intended to frame Richard – or use Richard’s identity to commit the crime – and use Emily as a hostage to force the judge to release Richard. A crazy, sick plan.
“Where are you taking us?”
“To the meeting point. Judge Vance is waiting. Today is the exchange day. Pardon for his daughter.”
Marcus turned around, pointing his gun at me.
“And you, Elena, you’ll be the bonus. Richard misses you very much.”
4:00 PM – A Mother’s Choice
The car turned into an abandoned warehouse complex near the harbor.
I looked at Emily. She looked at me, tears streaming down her face. In her eyes, I saw the image of Leo, my son. If I die here, what will happen to Leo?
I can’t let that happen.
“Marcus,” I said. “You forgot something.”
“What?” He stopped the car, turned off the engine.
“Richard never told you the real reason he married me, did he?”
Marcus frowned. “Because you’re beautiful? Because you’re stupid?”
“No,” I slowly unbuckled my seatbelt. “Because I’m the daughter of a former Marine. And I knew how to kill a man with my bare hands before I knew how to cook.”
Marcus burst out laughing. “You’re kidding…”
Before he could finish, I lunged forward.
I wasn’t aiming at the gun. I was aiming at his eyes.
My thumb pressed hard into Marcus’s eye socket. He screamed in pain, the gun flying from his hand and falling to the floor of the car.
“Run, Emily! Open the door and run!” I yelled.
Emily opened the car door and jumped out.
Marcus frantically swung his fist at my face. Blood gushed from my nose. He grabbed my neck and squeezed tightly.
“I’ll kill you! You bitch!”
My vision blurred. I fumbled around on the car floor, searching for the gun.
My hand touched something cold.
Not a gun. It was Richard’s Zippo lighter, which Marcus had also “borrowed” for his role.
Marcus was pinning me down, his foul breath fanning my face.
I flipped open the Zippo.
I lit the synthetic fake beard still clinging loosely to his neck, and his hair, still dripping with hairspray.
BOOM!
The flames erupted violently.
Marcus screamed, letting go of me to clutch his burning head.
I kicked open the car door and tumbled out into the mud.
“Emily! Run toward the main road!”
I grabbed her hand and pulled her, running for dear life. Behind us, the car was billowing with smoke, and Marcus’s screams echoed like those of a demon.
The End
Police and the FBI arrived just 10 minutes later. A passerby saw Emily running and called 911.
Marcus was arrested with severe burns to his face. The extortion plot collapsed. Judge Vance not only refused to grant clemency, but also sentenced both Sterling brothers to life imprisonment for kidnapping and…
Murder plot.
I sat in the ambulance, paramedics bandaging the wounds on my face.
A man in a fancy suit, his face grim, ran up. It was Judge Vance. He hugged Emily, sobbing uncontrollably.
Then he turned to me.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice trembling. “You saved my world.”
I looked across the street, where Leo was being brought over by the police. He rushed into my arms.
“Mommy! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Leo. I’m fine.”
I stared into space, where the burnt-out black car was being towed away.
My neighbor had asked me, “Does your ex-husband have a beard?”
The answer was no. But thanks to that question, I realized a more terrifying truth: Sometimes, the most terrifying monsters aren’t the strangers lurking in the shadows, but those who wear the familiar faces of the past to steal our future.
And today, I have personally burned that past to ashes.
