Crime · Mystery · Suspense · Thriller

The Bigamist by Mary Turner Thomson

It was a Wednesday morning – a damp, grey April day – and my three young children were starting to play up. They needed to get out of the house, so I decided on a trip to the library to get some fresh air and some new picture books to entertain them. While trying to get them ready, one shoe remained elusive and I was spending more time looking for it than should have been necessary. I was grateful for the distraction, however, and was keeping myself active, as it meant I didn’t have to think about everything else that was going on.
The phone rang and I answered with a quick distracted ‘Hello’.
‘Are you Mary Turner Thomson?’ asked a woman’s voice.
‘Yes,’ I replied with some trepidation. I was dreading a phone call from my husband’s female lawyer, to tell me how his court case had gone that morning. If it was her voice on the other end of the line, it meant that he was in jail, having been found guilty of trumped-up charges of bigamy, fraud, firearms offences and not registering his address under the sex-offenders’ act.
I knew none of it was true. Will had explained everything to me. I had known for some time now that he was a CIA agent and the problems had arisen when he’d tried to get out of the service. He had been set up. The marriage certificate the police were using as evidence against him was part of a cover story set up by his employers to explain his presence in the country; the firearms charges and failure to register as a sex offender were also related to his work; and the fraud charges had arisen due to a misunderstanding. Will had warned me that there were powerful forces working against him and he expected to receive a short jail sentence. But he assured me that once he was out it would all be over. He would be free and we would be together finally as a family.
This call had snapped me back to the nightmare but I could not have imagined what was going to come next.
‘Are you also Mrs Jordan?’ the voice asked.
‘Yes,’ I said again, now feeling a building knot of anxiety.
‘I am the other Mrs Jordan,’ she said and, without pause and before I could react in any way, delivered the second punch. ‘Have you been told I am an agent?’
Stunned and still reeling, I automatically replied, ‘Yes.’
‘I was told you were an agent,’ she said.

I felt myself start to shake.
The facade of my life crumbled around me. I knew she was telling the truth. I had probably known for some time but had just refused to believe it, refused to give up on hope and accept that my bizarre life was a sham. Now hope was gone, there was nothing left, and deep down I had known all along it was coming.

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