Chapter 3: The Night-Blooming Pact

Caleb Hayes was the perfect gentleman. On our wedding night, the silence stretched between us, broken only by the ticking of the old clock on the mantel. He sat up reading all night, keeping his distance, the lamp casting his shadow long and thin across the floor.

He gave me dignity, and his wife peace of mind. Early the next morning, he led me to greet his parents. Lillian sat beside my mother-in-law and, with a cheerful smile, took my hand. “We’re sisters now,” she said, then turned sternly to the staff. “Anyone who disrespects Natalie answers to me.”

Her kindness stunned me. For the first time, I felt a tiny spark of safety in the Hayes house. The world around me grew quieter, and I found myself drifting through the days, numb but steady.

“Help out around the house, keep things running smooth—don’t stir up drama, and you’ll be just fine.” That was Mom’s advice, and I tried to follow it, blending in, never making waves. Everyone seemed relieved that Natalie didn’t fight or compete.

On the third day, Mom squeezed my hand and smiled. “You’re doing great, honey. In time, ask Caleb for a child. That’s how you’ll really belong.”

Her words made my stomach twist. I withdrew my hand, too tired to argue, her voice fading into the background.

I faded too—skipping meals, growing thinner, the days blending together. Only Lillian noticed. She brought me snacks from the local bakery, little gifts, fresh flowers, trying to coax me back to life.

She had a night-blooming cereus in her garden. The night it bloomed, she sent Caleb to sleep in the study and pulled me outside to wait. The flower’s sweet scent drifted on the night air, mixing with the distant chirp of crickets. Lillian hummed softly, tears shining in her eyes as the blossom opened.

She broke down, sobbing. I reached for her hand, and we sat together as she cried. I finally told her the truth—about Noah, about my emptiness, about not wanting to live like this.

We talked all night, watching the sky turn from inky blue to soft pink, the first rays of sun catching the tears on Lillian’s cheeks. She told me about her ancestor’s “fake-death” pill, how she could get it for me. “We’ll get you a Greyhound ticket. You can start over—California, Montana, wherever you want. Work at a diner, get lost in a new life.”

Her words sounded wild, but for the first time, I felt hope. Maybe I could have a future beyond all this pain.

A few days later, Lillian brought back the pill. Caleb handed me a manila envelope with new ID and travel documents. All I had to do was take the pill, and I could vanish—become someone new, finally free.

But fate had other plans.