Updated Mar 22, 2026 • ~8 min read
Chapter 12: Patterns
SLOANE
Marcus calls again three days later.
“I got one of them to talk. Amanda.”
“Really?”
“She agreed to a phone call. With you. If you’re willing.”
“When?”
“Tonight. Seven PM.”
I’m nervous the entire day.
What do I even say to her?
Hey, we were both gaslighted by identical twins?
Jade helps me prepare.
“Just be honest. Tell her your story. Let her tell hers. You’ll find common ground.”
“What if she doesn’t believe me?”
“She will. Because she lived it too.”
At seven PM exactly, my phone rings.
Unknown number.
I answer.
“Hello?”
“Is this Sloane?” A woman’s voice. Tentative. Scared.
“Yes. Amanda?”
“Yeah. Hi. Marcus said you wanted to talk.”
“I do. Thank you for calling. I know this must be hard.”
“You have no idea.”
Silence.
I take a breath.
“I’m married to Ethan. Or I was. I’m divorcing him now. Because he and his twin have been switching places. Gaslighting me. Making me think I’m crazy.”
I hear her sharp inhale.
“They’re still doing it.”
“You mean they did it to you too?”
“Eight years ago. I dated Ethan. Or I thought I did. But looking back, I’m not sure anymore.”
“What made you suspicious?”
“Little things at first. He’d forget conversations we had. Use different phrases. Kiss me differently. I thought he was losing interest. Or cheating. But then one day, I saw Everett at a coffee shop. And the way he looked at me…”
“Like he knew you.”
“Exactly. Like we had history. But we’d only met a handful of times.”
“Did you confront them?”
“I tried. Ethan said I was imagining things. That Everett barely remembered me. That I was being paranoid. The same shit I’m sure they told you.”
“Did you ever get proof?”
“No. But I knew. In my gut. Something was wrong. So I broke up with him.”
“And Ethan just let you go?”
“Not exactly. He tried to convince me to stay. Said he’d go to therapy. Change. All the usual promises. But I couldn’t do it. I felt like I was losing my mind.”
“I know that feeling.”
“The worst part?” Her voice cracks. “I still don’t know if I dated one person or two. I don’t know if my entire relationship was a lie.”
Tears stream down my face.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I’m sorry for you too. How did you figure it out?”
I tell her everything.
The cameras. The fake tattoo. The sexual assault.
When I finish, she’s silent for a long moment.
“Jesus. They got worse.”
“Or they got better at it.”
“You’re the first one to fight back. You know that?”
“So I’ve been told.”
“I’m proud of you. For not backing down. For getting evidence. For going to court.”
“I don’t feel brave.”
“You are. Trust me. I wish I’d done what you’re doing.”
“It’s not too late. You could testify. Help my case.”
She’s quiet again.
“I don’t know if I can. It’s been eight years. I’ve moved on. Got married. Had kids. I don’t want to dredge all this up.”
“I understand. But think about it. If they’ve done this to you, to me, to the others Marcus found—they’ll do it again. To someone else. Don’t you want to stop them?”
“Of course I do. But I also want to protect my family. My husband doesn’t know about this. Neither do my kids.”
“You don’t have to testify publicly. It could be sealed testimony. Just for the judge.”
“Let me think about it. Okay?”
“Okay. Thank you for talking to me. It helps to know I’m not crazy.”
“You’re not crazy, Sloane. You’re traumatized. There’s a difference.”
After we hang up, I feel both better and worse.
Better because someone believes me.
Worse because this pattern goes back almost a decade.
How many women have they done this to?
How many didn’t even realize it?
Marcus calls the next day.
“I’ve been tracking their movements since the restraining order.”
“And?”
“They’re not staying at a hotel like they claimed.”
“Where are they staying?”
“A house. Rented under a false name. About ten miles from Jade’s apartment.”
My stomach drops.
“How close to Jade’s?”
“Too close. I think they’re watching you.”
“But the restraining order—”
“Says they can’t come within 500 feet. But if you’re out in public, at work, at the store—they can ‘coincidentally’ be there.”
“That’s stalking.”
“Yes. But hard to prove unless they make contact.”
“Have they?”
“Not yet. But I’ve seen one of them—not sure which—at your work building twice this week. Just… standing across the street. Watching.”
I feel violated all over again.
“What do I do?”
“Document everything. Take photos if you see them. Keep a log of every sighting. Build a case for a permanent restraining order.”
“And in the meantime?”
“Be careful. Don’t go anywhere alone. Vary your routine. Make it harder for them to track you.”
I tell Jade.
She’s furious.
“They’re violating the restraining order—”
“Technically they’re not. They’re staying 500 feet away. Just… barely.”
“That’s fucked up.”
“That’s calculated. They know exactly what they’re doing.”
“So we get creative.”
“How?”
“I have a friend who does personal security. Former military. I’ll ask him to keep an eye on you when you’re out.”
“I can’t afford—”
“He owes me a favor. Don’t worry about it.”
The next day, I have a bodyguard.
His name is Cole.
Huge. Intimidating. Completely professional.
“I’ll stay in the background,” he says. “You won’t even know I’m there. But if anyone approaches you, I’ll intervene.”
It should make me feel safer.
Instead, it makes me feel like a prisoner.
This is my life now.
Medication. Therapy. Legal battles. Bodyguards.
All because two men decided I was a toy they could share.
On Thursday, I see him.
One of the twins.
I’m at the grocery store with Cole shadowing me from three aisles over.
And there he is.
In the cereal aisle.
Staring at me.
I freeze.
He smiles.
That cold, calculating smile.
Doesn’t approach.
Doesn’t speak.
Just watches.
I pull out my phone.
Take a photo.
He sees me do it.
Winks.
Then turns and walks away.
I’m shaking so hard I have to lean against the shelf.
Cole appears immediately.
“You okay?”
“One of them was here. Just now.”
“Where?”
“He left. But I got a photo.”
“Good. Send it to your lawyer and Marcus. Documentation.”
I send the photo.
Rebecca responds within minutes: “That’s a violation. I’ll file for emergency hearing.”
Marcus: “I’ll pull store security footage. Get confirmation.”
But I know it won’t matter.
They’ll claim it was coincidence.
That they were just shopping.
That they didn’t realize I’d be there.
And the judge will believe them.
Because they’re good at this.
They’ve been doing it for years.
To multiple women.
And they’ve never faced consequences.
Until now.
That night, I have a session with Dr. Chen.
“How are you holding up?”
“Barely.”
I tell her about Amanda. About the stalking. About the grocery store.
“They’re escalating,” she says.
“What do you mean?”
“They’ve lost control over you. You’ve filed for divorce. Gotten a restraining order. Demanded DNA tests. They’re losing, and they know it. So they’re trying to regain power through intimidation.”
“Is it working?”
“Are you scared?”
“Terrified.”
“Then yes, it’s working. But being scared doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re human.”
“I hate this. I hate being afraid in my own life.”
“I know. But fear is information. It’s telling you they’re dangerous. Which you already knew. The question is: what are you going to do about it?”
“What CAN I do? I have a restraining order. A bodyguard. I’m documenting everything. What else is there?”
“You can refuse to let them control your emotional state. They want you scared. Paranoid. Isolated. Don’t give them that power.”
“How?”
“Keep living your life. Keep seeing friends. Keep going to work. Keep fighting. Every day you do that, you win.”
Friday comes.
One week until DNA results.
I’m counting down the days.
Needing answers.
Needing proof.
Needing something solid to hold onto.
Because right now, I’m drowning.
And the twins know it.
That evening, I get a text.
Unknown number.
“You look tired. Not sleeping well? Maybe you should stop fighting. It would be easier for everyone. – E”
I show Jade.
“Which E?” she asks.
“Does it matter? They’re working together.”
“Forward it to Rebecca.”
I do.
She responds: “Don’t respond. Don’t engage. Just document.”
But I want to respond.
Want to scream at them.
Tell them they won’t win.
That I won’t break.
That I’m stronger than they think.
But I don’t.
Because Dr. Chen is right.
Every time I engage, they win.
So instead, I block the number.
Screenshot the message.
Add it to my evidence folder.
And keep fighting.
One day at a time.
Until the DNA results come back.
Until I know the truth.
Until I can finally, finally start to heal.
END OF CHAPTER 12
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