Page 16 of What Goes Around

“It started about a month before the wedding,” he said. “You started texting me. Or… at least, I thought it was you.”

My stomach dropped. “What are you talking about?”

He gave a broken laugh. “At first it was innocent. Questions like, how are you doing? Are you nervous about the wedding? Stuff like that. You said it was from your work phone, so I didn’t question the number. We’d known each other for years. I thought maybe you just wanted to talk.”

“I never—”

“I know.” His voice cracked. “I know that now. But back then… it felt real. Every night, that person sent voice messages. I listened to them over and over. Ashley, it was your voice. If I didn’t know better, I would still think it was you. I loved Payton. I did. But I was scared. I don’t know… wedding jitters, maybe. And you, or the version of you I thought I was talking to, you listened.”

He swallowed hard, his hands trembling. “I said things I shouldn’t have. That person said things back. It was emotional, not physical, but it was still wrong. I made the biggest mistake of my life, Ashley. And I realized it the second I saw Payton crumble at the wedding. I tried to explain, but she never gave me the chance.”

His voice broke completely. “And then she was gone.”

“You were always so confused. Like you had no idea what I was talking about. At first I thought you were ashamed, trying to hide it. But then I started second-guessing everything,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair. “I showed the texts and voicemails to one of the IT guys at work. The messages came from a spoofing app. And he used some kind of voice analysis software.”

He let out a shaky breath. “The voice messages were fake. Synthetic.”

“Deepfake?” I breathed.

He nodded miserably. “AI. Someone cloned your voice. Most likely they used your old voicemail recordings, your social media videos, whatever they could find.”

“I want to hear them,” I whispered.

Thomas looked pained but unlocked his phone and held it out. The messages were lined up in a neat, horrifying row. When he pressed play, the voice that came out sounded exactly like mine. Same cadence, same breath, same everything, but the words were wrong. All wrong.

I sank down into a chair, the world spinning.

“That has to be illegal,” I said, my voice shaking. “To steal someone’s identity like that. To pretend to be me.”

Thomas rubbed both hands over his face, pacing a tight line across the room like he was trying to outrun his own guilt.

“We should go to the police,” I said suddenly, standing. “Now.”

He looked at me. “It’s Friday afternoon, Ashley. And I’m still drunk.” He laughed weakly, a hollow sound. “Monday. We’ll go Monday. I’ll pull the messages, the logs, everything. I promise.”

I stared at him for a long moment. He looked wrecked. A ghost of the man I remembered.

“Fine,” I said quietly. “Monday.”

When I turned to leave, he stood and followed me to the door. Outside, the air was sharp, the sky heavy with clouds.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, voice breaking. “For all of it. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I am so damn sorry.”

Something in his eyes, raw, human, broken, made me pause. I hesitated, then stepped forward and hugged him.

He stiffened, then clung to me, shaking.

“I hope you find a way to forgive yourself,” I murmured.

When I pulled back, he wiped his face and managed a small, watery smile. “You’re a better person than I deserve.”

I shook my head. “No. I just know what it’s like to lose everything.”

He nodded, watching as I walked toward my car.

What I didn’t see was a figure across the street, crouched low behind a parked sedan, their phone raised and pointed straight at us.

By the time I started the engine, the photos were already uploading.