Chapter 6 – The Phone Call
The notebook stayed on the kitchen counter.
I didn't touch it again, but I saw it every morning when I made tea. *Day 8 – She made breakfast. She asked why I chose her.* The words were written in Adrian's neat, slanted handwriting, and underneath, in smaller letters: *She's not her. She knows it.*
I didn't know whether to be angry or relieved that he'd written that.
Adrian left at 7 a.m. as usual. I cleaned the kitchen, washed the two breakfast plates, and decided to go see my father.
The hospital was 40 minutes away by taxi. I used the bank card he'd given me. 2,000 pounds were gone in one ride, but seeing my father sit up in bed and smile made it worth it.
"You look tired, habibti," he said, squeezing my hand.
"I'm fine, Baba. How are you feeling?"
"Better. The medicine here is good. When can I come home?"
"Soon. A few more days."
He nodded, then frowned. "Who is paying for all this, Lila? It's expensive."
I hesitated. "A friend from work helped."
He looked at me, really looked at me, and I saw the worry in his eyes. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm okay, Baba. Don't worry."
He nodded and closed his eyes to rest.
I stayed until 1 p.m., then took a taxi back.
When I got home at 2:15 p.m., the apartment was quiet. I put the groceries away, made myself a sandwich, and sat on the couch.
At 3:47 p.m. Adrian's phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.
I was folding laundry and almost ignored it.
The screen lit up: *Mom calling.*
My first instinct was to let it ring. It was his mother, not mine.
But what if it was an emergency? What if something happened to her and he needed to know?
I picked up the phone. "Hello?"
"Adrian, darling, are you coming Sunday for lunch?" a woman's voice said, warm and motherly.
I froze. "Uh… this is Lila."
There was a pause on the other end.
"Oh," the woman said. Her tone shifted instantly, became cooler, more guarded. "You must be the new wife."
"I… yes, I just moved in."
Another pause.
"She looks like her, doesn't she?" the woman said quietly, almost to herself.
My blood went cold. "Who?"
Another pause.
"You'll understand soon, dear."
She hung up.
I stood there holding the phone, my heart pounding so hard I thought the neighbors could hear it.
She looks like her.
Who is her?
I put the phone down and sat on the couch.
I felt like I was a character in a story I didn't know the ending of.
At 8:10 p.m. Adrian came home.
He took off his coat, saw me sitting on the couch, and said, "You answered my phone."
"It rang. I thought it was important."
He nodded, went to the kitchen, poured himself water.
"Was it your mom?" I asked.
He didn't answer right away. He drank the water, put the glass down, and looked at me.
"Yes."
"What did she want?"
"She wanted to know if I'm coming for lunch on Sunday."
"Are you?"
"No."
I wanted to ask *Why not?* but I remembered the rule.
Instead I said, "She said I look like her."
Adrian's jaw tightened.
"She shouldn't have said that."
"Who is she, Adrian?"
He looked at me, and for a second I saw the wall he keeps around himself crack.
"Nadia was my wife," he said.
I felt the air leave my lungs.
"She disappeared two years ago," he continued, his voice flat. "One day she was here. The next day she was gone. No note, no call, nothing."
"I'm so sorry," I said.
He nodded, turned, and went to his office, closing the door.
I sat on the couch, my mind spinning.
Nadia was his wife.
She disappeared two years ago.
And I look like her.
That night I couldn't eat.
I made chicken, set the table, waited.
Adrian came home at 8:25 p.m., saw the food, sat down, ate a few bites, then stopped.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
He nodded, but his eyes were distant.
"You don't have to cook every night," he said.
"I like cooking."
He nodded again and went back to his office.
I sat at the table alone, pushing the food around my plate.
The next morning I made breakfast again.
Adrian came out at 7 a.m., saw the table, sat down.
We ate.
He said, "The food is good."
"Thank you."
He was about to leave when he stopped.
"The rule is still the same," he said. "Don't ask about her."
"I know," I said.
He nodded and left.
I sat at the table after he left and opened the notebook.
*Day 9 – She asked about Nadia. I told her the truth.*
Under it, in smaller writing:
*She cried. She's not her.*
I closed the notebook.
My heart was beating fast.
He knew I was not her.
So why did he marry me?
That evening I decided to be careful.
I cooked, I cleaned, I stayed away from the office.
At 8 p.m. Adrian came home.
He saw the table, sat down, ate.
I didn't mention Nadia.
After dinner, he said, "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
He went to his office.
I was washing dishes when I heard his voice from inside the office.
"I know you're worried," he said on the phone. "But I have it under control. She's here. She's following the rules."
A pause.
"No, she doesn't know the details. Not yet."
Another pause.
"I'll tell her when the time is right."
He closed the door.
I stood at the sink, my hands shaking.
*She doesn't know the details. Not yet.*
What details?
What was he hiding?
The next morning I woke up with a decision.
I would be patient.
I would follow the rules.
But I would also pay attention.
At 7 a.m. Adrian came out, saw the breakfast I made, sat down.
We ate.
"How was your night?" I asked.
"Fine."
"Do you want me to come with you to visit my father tomorrow?"
He looked surprised. "You want me to come with you?"
"If you want to."
He thought for a second. "No. You go. I have work."
I nodded.
He left.
I sat at the table and opened the notebook.
*Day 10 – She invited me to see her father. I said no.*
Under it:
*She's trying.*
I closed the notebook.
She's trying.
The next day I went to the hospital alone.
My father was sitting up, eating.
"Lila, you look pale," he said.
"I'm fine, Baba."
He looked at me carefully. "Are you sure this man is treating you well?"
"Yes, Baba. He's… quiet."
"Quiet is good," my father said. "As long as he's good to you."
I smiled and nodded.
I stayed with him for two hours.
When I got home at 5 p.m., Adrian was already there.
He was sitting on the couch, the notebook in his hand.
He looked up when I came in.
"You went to see your father," he said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"How is he?"
"Better."
He nodded and closed the notebook.
"Did you spend a lot?"
"No. I only used 2,000."
He nodded.
Dinner was quiet.
After dinner, Adrian said, "I need to go out for an hour."
"Okay."
He left.
I sat on the couch, the apartment quiet.
I went to the kitchen, saw the notebook on the counter, and opened it.
*Day 10 – She went to see her father alone. I went out.*
Under it:
*She's following the rules.*
I closed the notebook.
He had gone out while I was gone.
Where did he go?
I was still thinking about it when the door opened at 9:15 p.m.
Adrian came in, his face tired.
"How was your father?" he asked.
"He's better."
"Good."
He went to his office.
I went to my room.
That night I couldn't sleep.
I kept thinking about the phone call, about Nadia, about the notebook.
*She doesn't know the details. Not yet.*
What details?
I got out of bed at 1 a.m. and went to the kitchen for water.
Adrian's office door was closed.
I stood in front of it, my hand on the knob.
I wanted to open it.
I wanted to know what was inside.
I pulled my hand back.
The rule.
Don't ask about her.
Don't enter the office.
I went back to my room.
The next morning Adrian left at 7 a.m.
At 10 a.m. I decided to clean the office.
I knocked on the door. No answer.
I opened it.
The room was exactly as I remembered — bookshelves, desk, computer, the wall of photos.
I started dusting the shelves.
I was careful not to touch the box with the scarf and the bracelet.
I was dusting the desk when I saw a file folder under a stack of papers.
The folder was labeled *N.H.*
I opened it.
Inside were papers, photos, and a police report.
I started reading.
*Missing Person Report – Nadia Hassan*
*Date of Disappearance: November 14, 2023*
*Last Seen: Leaving office building in Maadi at 6:30 p.m.*
*Witness: Adrian Cole (husband)*
My hands were shaking.
I kept reading.
The report said Nadia left work at 6:30 p.m., called Adrian at 6:45 p.m. to say she was on her way home, and never arrived.
The police searched. No body. No sign of a struggle. Her phone was turned off at 7:10 p.m. near the Nile.
I closed the folder and put it back exactly where it was.
I finished dusting and left the room, closing the door.
I sat on the couch, my heart pounding.
Nadia disappeared two years ago.
She called Adrian at 6:45 p.m. to say she was on her way home.
She never arrived.
I sat on the couch for a long time, thinking.
At 8 p.m. Adrian came home.
He walked in, saw me sitting on the couch, and said, "You were in my office."
It wasn't a question.
I looked at him.
"Yes."
His eyes darkened. "I told you not to."
"I know. I'm sorry. I saw the file."
He didn't say anything.
"I'm sorry, Adrian," I said. "I was curious. I wanted to know who she was."
He walked to the window and looked out at the city.
"She was my wife," he said quietly. "She disappeared on her way home from work."
"I read the report."
He turned to look at me.
"Why did you marry me?" I asked.
He looked at me for a long time.
"Because you look like her," he said.
"That's not enough of a reason."
"It was enough for me."
I stood up. "I'm not her, Adrian."
"I know," he said quietly.
"Then why am I here?"
He didn't answer.
I went to my room and closed the door.
I sat on the bed and cried.
I was not her.
I was me.
But I was living in her apartment, sleeping in her guest room, cooking in her kitchen, breathing the same air she breathed.
I wiped my tears and made a decision.
I would stay.
I would follow the rules.
But I would also find out what happened to Nadia Hassan.