I didn’t know who to turn to. Didn’t even know how to start explaining the wreckage of my life.
I slumped to the floor, numb, staring at nothing — until my eyes locked on that drawer.
Sebastian’s nightstand.
The one he never let me touch. His little fortress of secrets.
Well, screw that. I was done respecting his rules.
I needed answers.
Dragging myself up, I stumbled to the kitchen and grabbed the heaviest thing I could find — a cleaver. The kind you use to break bones.
Back in the bedroom, I didn’t hesitate. One swing, and the drawer’s lock shattered.
Inside? A box of letters and an old poetry book.
They looked ancient, carefully preserved like some sacred relics.
My hands shook as I reached for the stack of letters.
I already knew what I’d find. Knew it would hurt.
But I couldn’t stop.
Gritting my teeth, I yanked the letters out, one by one, and opened them.
[Dear Rainee,
I couldn’t fight my family’s wishes. They’ve arranged my engagement, and the wedding is next week.
I wish you were the bride.]
[Dear Rainee,
Forgive me for betraying you with my body. It pains me too, but for the sake of our child, I have to endure it in silence.]
[Dear Rainee,
Helena’s pregnant. I’m humiliated. I took precautions — she must’ve done something to trap me.
Don’t be angry. I’ve already bought the abortion pills.
I swear, you’re the only woman I’ll ever have a child with.]
[Dear Rainee,
It’s done. The bastard child in Helena’s belly is gone.
I even had the doctor tell her she’ll never have kids again.
I’ve used that as my excuse to move into a separate bedroom.
I’ll never have to force myself to touch her again.
I dreamed of you last night. I wish you’d visit me in my dreams again.]
[Dear Rainee,
It makes me sick to hear the boy call Helena ‘Mom.’
One day, I’ll make sure he learns the truth and tells it to her face.]
Disgusting.
Absolutely vile.
Everything — my marriage, my life, the family I built — had been a lie.
More than thirty years.
My head spun. Nausea twisted my stomach, and a rush of blood made my ears ring.
‘Sebastian, you bastard!’
The letters shook me to my core. I couldn’t calm down.
Stumbling out of the bedroom, I collapsed onto the living room couch. For the first time ever, I did something Sebastian would’ve called rude and improper — lounging without “decorum.”
Well, screw decorum.
Fueled by anger, I shot up and looked around the house I’d lived in for over thirty years.
A modest three-bedroom house. My room? The smallest one, shoved in the farthest corner. Sebastian’s master bedroom sat at the opposite end, like we lived on separate planets.
Because we did.
