For nearly a year, John lived a double life—devoted husband to Emma, secret lover to Claire. But the weight of his lies was catching up to him.

One chilly autumn night, Emma felt unwell. John made her soup, secretly slipping in sleeping pills. Once she was out, he quietly left for Claire’s apartment, thinking no one would know.

He returned hours later, the house unnervingly still. As he crept into the bedroom, his blood ran cold—Emma was standing in the dark, staring at the wall. Above her, in what looked like blood, were the words: “I KNOW.”

Frozen in place, John whispered her name. She turned slowly, dazed. “John? What happened? I… don’t remember.”

He forced a smile. “Sleepwalking,” he said softly, guiding her back to bed.

Only when she slept did he realize the message was painted, not written in blood. But that didn’t ease the chill crawling up his spine.

Whether it was a warning, a prank, or just guilt eating away at him, John knew one thing for sure—his secret life was unraveling.