When my husband, Tom, and I moved into our new home together, I was excited to start our life as a married couple. But there was one thing that puzzled me from the start – a strange oil painting of a woman that Tom insisted on keeping. He claimed he had picked it up at a rummage sale and had grown attached to it.

At first, I didn’t think much of it. After all, everyone has their quirks, and I figured it was just a harmless oddity. But as time went on, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something off about the painting and Tom’s strange attachment to it.

One night, as I set the table for dinner, I called out to Tom, expecting him to join me in the kitchen. But when he didn’t respond, I went to look for him and found him sitting alone in his office, gazing intently at the painting.

“Are you just sitting here staring at her?” I asked, unable to hide the irritation in my voice.

Tom’s dark eyes locked onto mine, and then his voice softened. “You’re jealous of her.”

I blinked in confusion. “What?!”

“You shouldn’t be, Tara,” he said cryptically. “The painting makes her prettier than she was.”

I froze, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. Something about his words sent a shiver down my spine, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

That night, long after Tom had fallen asleep, I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled over me. Unable to resist my curiosity any longer, I crept into his office and pulled out my phone. With trembling fingers, I snapped a photo of the painting and quickly did a reverse image search.

As the results loaded, my heart pounded in my chest. And then, I gasped in horror as I saw what popped up on the screen. The painting wasn’t just any random piece of art – it was a portrait of a woman who had gone missing years ago under mysterious circumstances.

With trembling fingers, I clicked on the first link, my heart pounding in my chest. It led to a news article detailing the woman’s disappearance, along with a photograph of her. And as I compared the image to the painting, my blood ran cold.

It was her. There was no mistaking it. The woman in the painting was the missing woman.

A million thoughts raced through my mind as I stared at the screen in disbelief. How had Tom come into possession of this painting? And what did he know about the woman’s disappearance?

Fear and suspicion gnawed at my insides as I realized that I didn’t know the man I had married as well as I thought. And as I glanced over at Tom, sleeping peacefully in our bed, I knew that I couldn’t ignore the truth any longer.

I had to confront him. And whatever secrets he was hiding, I was determined to uncover them, no matter the cost.