On our wedding anniversary, my husband put something in my glass. I decided to replace it with his sister’s glass.

50

I played a role. Cooked dinners, listened to him, nodded. Until one evening.

We were sitting by the fireplace.

“To us,” he said.

“To us,” I repeated and… didn’t touch the glass.

At that moment there was a knock on the door.

I stood up and opened it.

A policeman and a private detective stood at the threshold.

— Citizen Orlov, you are under arrest on suspicion of attempted murder.

– You… You set me up?

“No,” I came closer, looking straight into his eyes. “You set yourself up. I just survived.”

Two months passed.

The life was going on as usual.

All the evidence was against him. He was sitting in a pretrial detention center, his lawyer looked dispirited.

It all seemed too normal. Too neat.

One evening I received a call from the pre-trial detention center.

– He wants to meet you.

He says he will tell you the truth – only to you.

I looked at the phone for a long time. But curiosity won out.

“You know,” he leaned closer, “you got it all wrong. You weren’t the target.

I froze.

– What?

“It was all for her,” he chuckled.

“For my sister. She knew too much. And demanded too much.

“You’re lying,” I muttered.

– Check her phone.

See who she talked to. We’ll talk later.

I returned home in the early morning. I didn’t sleep until dawn.

I opened an old tablet that belonged to his sister. What I looked inside made everything I knew upside down.

She was indeed playing a double game. Eavesdropping.

Recording. Chatting with someone under the nickname “M.O.” One of her last messages knocked the wind out of her sails:

“If she doesn’t leave on her own, we’ll have to arrange an accident. My brother needs an incentive.”

I reread these lines over and over again.

I was sh0cking. 

My sister had already left the hospital, as if nothing had happened. She was smiling, baking pies, offering help.

I started looking for “M.O.”: contacts, numbers, traces in correspondence. It turned out that this is not just a person.

This is a whole system. A shadow organization that solves “problems” for money. Big money.

It turns out that my husband wanted to delete my sister, and my sister wanted to remove me.

I decided to meet with “M.O.” – under a false name, with a fictitious story.

“Did you order the disappearance?” he asked.

“No,” I answered.

“I came to offer cooperation.”

He looked at me carefully.

– What exactly?

I smiled.

— Information. Access to everyone who tried to get rid of me. In exchange — help.

We can be useful to each other.

He took a sip of coffee.

– Do you want revenge?

– No. I want to control the game. It’s over.

Now I decide who goes where.

I entered this world quietly.

“M.O.” understood: it is better to work with me than to conflict.

One night I came to her place unannounced. I sat down opposite her.

“I know about M.O.,” I said calmly. “And about your order for me.”

She turned pale.

– This… This is not true…

– It’s too late.

I didn’t come for apologies. I’m giving you a choice.

I stood up and walked to the door.

– Then you will know what it is like when the glass suddenly becomes not yours.

And she left.

The next morning she was not home.

And I looked in the mirror and realized: the old me is no longer there.

Now I was a force.

I felt power. Almost divine.

The very network I had entered accepted me – even feared me.

I began to control destinies like chess pieces. I could ruin or protect with one call. People spoke of me by other names.

My past transformed into a legend.

But one day I received an envelope without an address. Inside was a photo. Mine.

And a note. Just three words:

“You’re not the first.”

At that moment, everything destr0yed. I realized: behind this entire network, manipulation, even behind “M.O.” there is someone else.

I tried to find M.O., but he was gone.

The network started to break down. People were disappearing.

Every night I feel someone’s gaze. Phone calls without words.

It’s not paranoia – it’s a signal.

I had defeated my game… but found myself part of another – more ancient, more dangerous.

Now I live differently. Without a name. Without a past.

And I’m waiting.