The Public Exhibition

Charlotte

The invitation to the social event arrived a week before, a thick and elegant card with gold lettering embossed on it. Marta handed it to me personally, her eyes gleaming with a mixture of excitement and authority. "You will attend this event, Charlotte. It will be an excellent opportunity to show the world that the Anderson family is expanding."

Her tone made it clear that this was not a suggestion but an order. I knew I had no choice, but the thought of being displayed as a trophy made me shudder. In the days leading up to the event, Marta took charge of every detail—what I would wear, how my hair would be styled, and even the expression I should display.

"You need to look radiant, confident," Marta insisted as she selected a long, tight dress that accentuated my growing belly. "All eyes will be on you, and you need to represent this family well."

I looked at myself in the mirror that night, feeling like a stranger in my own body. The dress, custom-made to accommodate my growing belly, was beautiful, but it didn’t make me feel beautiful. It was a reminder that my body, like my life, now belonged to others. My hair was styled in soft waves, and the makeup was applied flawlessly, highlighting my eyes and lips. Yet, behind all that production, I felt empty, a hollow shell that existed only to meet the expectations of others.

When the day of the event finally arrived, the tension in the mansion was palpable. Marta was agitated, giving orders to all the staff, ensuring that every detail was perfect. She looked me up and down, adjusting the hem of my dress, examining every detail as if I were a doll being prepared for display.

"You look perfect," she finally said, with a satisfied smile. "Remember, Charlotte, this is not just about you. It’s about the Anderson family. Do whatever it takes to make sure everyone knows that."

Richard, as usual, was distant, but he also had his expectations. He would attend the event with me, and his presence was a constant reminder that I was being watched and judged. "You will behave appropriately," he told me before we left. "No complaints, no drama. Just do what’s expected of you."

We arrived at the event in a luxurious car, with Marta and Richard by my side. The venue was a mansion even larger than the Andersons’, decorated with an opulence that bordered on excess. The garden was filled with twinkling lights, and an orchestra played softly in the background as the guests, all impeccably dressed, mingled amid laughter and superficial conversations.

As soon as I entered, I felt all eyes turn toward me. My prominent belly seemed to draw attention like a magnet, and I felt like a piece of art in a museum, displayed for all to see. Marta guided me through the room, introducing me to people I didn’t know but who seemed to know everything about me. They greeted me with superficial smiles and empty comments about how radiant I looked, how perfectly I was playing my role.

Richard, always by my side, shook hands with the guests, greeting them with a restrained smile. He seemed more concerned with maintaining appearances than with any discomfort I might have been feeling. His hand rested on my waist from time to time, a gesture that felt possessive, as if he were reaffirming his control over me in front of others.

"You must be so proud," a woman commented, her eyes fixed on my belly. "Two heirs at once! What a blessing for the Anderson family."

I forced a smile and murmured some polite thanks, but inside, I felt increasingly dehumanized. It didn’t matter who I was or what I thought or felt; I was just a womb carrying the future heirs of the Anderson family, nothing more.

The night continued with Marta pushing me from one group to another, ensuring that everyone had the chance to see me, to admire the "achievement" of the family. I was constantly touched, with unfamiliar hands resting on my belly as if I were some kind of good luck charm. It was humiliating, and each touch, each condescending comment, made me shrink even more inside.

Richard stayed close, watching me with a critical eye, as if expecting me to make some mistake. Instead of supporting me, he seemed ready to correct me at any moment, to ensure I fulfilled my role without flaws. His behavior only increased my discomfort, and I felt as though I was being watched not just by him but by everyone around us.

Midway through the night, during a toast in our honor, Marta took the floor, thanking everyone for their presence and highlighting the importance of that moment for the Anderson family. "We are extremely happy and proud to announce that our family will soon grow with the arrival of two beautiful babies," she said, her voice full of pride.

The people applauded, and I felt even more isolated. It was as if my life, my body, were just a tool for them to display their wealth and power. Marta’s speech made me feel as though I was no longer a person but a piece in a game of power and status.

Richard, beside me, maintained his smile, waving to the guests, but there was a coldness in his eyes that made me shiver. He saw nothing wrong with displaying me like this, with using me as a symbol of his own importance. To him, I was fulfilling the role assigned to me, and any feelings I had were irrelevant.

When the night finally ended and we returned to the mansion, I was exhausted, not just physically but emotionally. The weight of what had happened, of what I had endured, was almost unbearable. I felt completely dehumanized, reduced to a function, to a role I never wanted to play.

Lying in bed that night, I couldn’t sleep. The words and looks of the people at the event kept echoing in my mind, and I wondered if my life would ever be mine again. The hope that things might improve was fading, replaced by a growing sense of despair. I was trapped in a situation that seemed to have no escape, and each day that passed took me further away from the person I used to be.

I knew that from that moment on, any illusion of control or dignity I might have had was completely destroyed. I was a prisoner, and my only function was to obey and endure. And so, with a heavy heart, I realized that the hope of one day regaining my freedom was becoming increasingly distant.