Chapter 6: The Name She Wouldn't Say
Gary walked out of the dining room without looking back.
I stayed one extra moment, long enough to watch Donna's face.
She had expected him to sit back down.
She had expected more questions, more doubt, more of the slow erosion she had been working toward for ten years.
Instead she was alone at a table set for three with her melon going warm in the sun.
I caught up with Gary on the deck.
He was standing at the railing, both hands gripping the metal, looking out at the water.
"Someone has been feeding her information," he said.
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"I don't know.
Long enough to have screenshots of private accounts."
He turned around.
His back was against the railing now, the ocean behind him.
"Who has access to your private accounts?"
"Work colleagues.
A few friends.
People I've known for years." I thought about it.
"Nobody who would do this.
Nobody I can immediately think of."
"She said someone who cares about me."
"She said that to make it sound credible.
It's the kind of thing you say when you want the other person to start doubting everyone around them."
Gary was quiet for a moment.
"It's working a little."
"I know.
That's why she said it."
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"I want to know who it is."
"So do I."
We stood there while the ship moved beneath us, slow and steady, carrying us further from home.
"I'm going to go back and ask her again," he said.
"She won't tell you."
"Maybe not.
But I want her to know I'm not letting it go."
He went back inside.
I stayed on the deck and called Rachel again.
It was early but Rachel was already awake, already angry on my behalf from the night before.
"Someone has been sending Donna screenshots," I said.
"Private account posts.
Work events.
Things from years ago."
"From your accounts?"
"Or accounts I'm tagged in.
Someone who can see my posts."
Rachel went quiet.
I could hear her thinking.
"How private is your main account?" she asked.
"Friends only."
"And Donna is not on your friends list."
"Absolutely not."
"So someone on your friends list has been screenshotting your posts and sending them to her." A pause.
"Do you want me to check something?"
"What?"
"I have a mutual friend with Donna.
I've always thought it was weird — we met at your bridal shower and I don't think we've spoken since.
But she's still in my friends list.
Her name is Carol."
I went very still.
"Gary's cousin Carol."
"Yes."
"She was at the bridal shower."
"She was at the bridal shower, and she is friends with both of us, and she is definitely friends with Donna." Rachel's voice was careful now.
"I'm not saying it's her.
But she would have access."
I looked back through the glass doors toward the dining room.
I could see Gary standing at his mother's table again.
Donna's arms were crossed.
Gary's were not.
"Send me Carol's profile," I said.
"Already on it."
The notification came through thirty seconds later.
I opened Carol's page.
Scrolled back.
She posted frequently — family photos, recipes, the occasional political share.
And then, eight months ago, a photo.
A group shot from a family gathering I had attended.
I was in the background, slightly out of focus, talking to someone.
The photo had been posted publicly.
And Donna had commented on it.
*Lovely evening.
So good to see everyone.*
I took a screenshot.
Then I scrolled further.
Found two more photos from family events.
Both public.
Both with Donna commenting within hours of posting.
She hadn't needed a spy with secret access.
Carol had been posting publicly, and Donna had been watching every single one.
I went back inside.
Gary was still standing at his mother's table.
His voice was low but I could hear it as I approached.
"I'm asking you one more time, Mom.
Who has been sending you things?"
Donna looked up and saw me coming.
Something moved behind her eyes.
"Nobody sent me anything," she said.
"I found it myself."
"Found it how?"
I set my phone on the table in front of her.
The screenshot of Carol's post.
Donna's comment underneath it.
Timestamped.
"You've been watching Carol's public posts," I said.
"For at least eight months that I can find.
Probably longer."
Donna looked at the screen.
Then she looked up at me.
"Keeping up with family," she said, "is not a crjme."
"Collecting screenshots to use against your daughter-in-law on her anniversary cruise is not keeping up with family."
Gary picked up my phone.
Looked at it.
Set it back down.
"Mom," he said.
"I need you to go back to your cabin."
Her chin came up.
"I'm not finished."
"I am," he said.
"Go back to your cabin.
We'll talk when we get home."
"Gary—"
"Mom." His voice didn't rise.
It didn't need to.
"Please."
She stood up.
Gathered her bag.
Looked at me one last time with an expression I couldn't quite name — not defeat, not anger, something that sat between them.
"You think you've won something," she said to me.
"I think I'd like to finish my anniversary," I said.
She left.
Gary sat down in her empty chair.
He looked exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with the hour.
"She's not done," he said.
"No," I agreed.
"She's not."
His phone buzzed on the table.
He looked at it.
His face went still.
It was a message from his brother, Derek, back home.
*Hey.
Mom called me this morning.
Said things are bad on the ship.
May you like
Said you need to hear something about your wife before you get home.
What's going on?*
