Vanessa

Charlotte

The days that followed the social event were marked by a heavy silence in the mansion. Marta, pleased with the family's performance the night before, seemed even more determined to maintain control over every aspect of my life. Richard, on the other hand, was becoming increasingly absent. He would leave early and return late, always with the excuse of important business commitments. But something inside me began to suspect that there was more to his story than he was letting on.

Richard's patterns changed subtly, but noticeably. He was less present at meals, more distant when he was home, and, strangely enough, increasingly aloof toward me. It was as if he had completely disconnected from me, treating me not as his wife but as an obligation, a burden he had to endure until the task was complete. There was no affection, no genuine concern. Richard was cold, calculating, and I knew that to him, I was nothing more than a means to an end.

Richard’s indifference was an open wound that deepened every day. I was a prisoner, captive to the wills of Marta and Richard, and the idea that he might be involved with another woman gnawed at me from within. Not because I harbored any feelings for him, but because it represented the extent of my insignificance in the life he had planned.

One rainy afternoon, while I was sitting in the library, trying to focus on one of the maternity books Marta forced me to read, I noticed something strange. Richard was on the phone, his voice low, almost inaudible. He was speaking in the hallway, and I could only catch parts of the conversation, but the tone was different, softer, almost intimate.

"I know... Yes, I’ll be there soon... No, no one knows anything," he murmured, his words laden with an intimacy that made me shiver.

My heart raced, and the pages of the book I was reading blurred before my eyes. The suspicion that had been growing in recent days began to solidify into something more concrete. Richard was hiding something from me, and I feared it was exactly what I was beginning to imagine.

In the following days, I watched him more closely, trying to catch any other clue that would confirm my suspicions. Richard left more often, many times without even telling me. When I asked where he was going, his answer was vague: "Business, Charlotte. It’s not something you need to understand."

But how could I not worry? I was already trapped in a life I didn’t choose, living under the rigid rules of Marta and Richard. If he was indeed involved with another woman, what would that mean for me? For the twins I was carrying?

As these thoughts tormented me, Richard continued to disappear for long periods. Each time he left, a knot of anxiety tightened inside me. His behavior, once merely cold and distant, now seemed tinged with something else: guilt? Secrets? I wasn’t sure, but my intuition told me something was wrong, and my mind began to fixate on the idea that Richard had a mistress.

One particularly long and lonely night, I decided I needed answers. Marta was in bed, and the house was silent, except for the ticking of the clock in the hallway. I knew I couldn’t ask Richard directly, as he would surely lie or deflect the issue. Instead, I began to search through his belongings. I’m not proud of what I did, but my desperation was greater than my shame.

In the days that followed, when Richard was out, I discreetly investigated his office, his drawers, anything that might give me a clue about what he was hiding. The mansion, with its endless corridors and hidden secrets, seemed to conspire against me. Every door I opened, every drawer I searched, made my heart race with fear and anticipation.

That’s how I found a small key, hidden at the bottom of a drawer, along with a card bearing the name of a woman: Vanessa.

The name wasn’t familiar, but something about it sent a chill down my spine. It was a name that carried the promise of secrets and deception. I began to piece things together: the prolonged absences, the mysterious phone calls, and now this name. Vanessa. Who was she? And what was her connection to Richard?

I didn’t have concrete proof yet, but the key and the card were enough to fuel my suspicions. I spent the night sleepless, wondering what to do next. I could confront Richard with what I had discovered, but I knew he would likely lie or deflect the issue. Confronting him would also mean revealing that I had invaded his privacy, which would certainly not end well for me.

When Richard returned home the next morning, I was in the living room, pretending to read a book. He entered, exhausted, as if he had spent the night awake, but forced a smile when he saw me. "Good morning, Charlotte," he said, without emotion.

The gesture was mechanical, devoid of affection, without any hint of warmth. It was as if he was fulfilling a social obligation, something he did only to maintain appearances. I returned the smile politely, but inside, my heart was in turmoil.

"You were late," I commented casually, trying to keep the tone light.

"Yes, I had a meeting that ran late," he replied, avoiding my gaze.

It was a lie, I knew. But without proof, all I could do was wait and watch. Richard was hiding something, and while I didn’t yet know exactly what it was, I had a feeling that Vanessa was at the center of it all.

My mind was full of unanswered questions, but I knew that for now, the only thing I could do was wait. Wait for an opportunity to discover more. Wait for a crack in the carefully constructed facade of Richard.

Every time Richard left without saying where he was going, every time he avoided my gaze or abruptly cut off our conversations, my determination to find out what was going on grew. He could treat me with indifference, he could ignore me, but I wasn’t a fool. I knew something was wrong, and I was determined to uncover what it was.