Chapter 3: Nightmares, Promises, and Goodbyes

The second month he was away on business, I asked Mrs. Whitaker for leave to go home.

I made up a story about a sick aunt, practiced my lines until they sounded real. Mrs. Whitaker barely looked up as she signed the slip.

On paper, it was to visit family, but really I hid out at a cheap motel and drank herbal tea.

The room was small, the sheets scratchy, but it was the only place I could be alone. I brewed the tea strong, desperate for it to work.

Birth control wasn’t foolproof.

I’d heard stories from the older maids—nothing was ever certain, not for girls like us.

During the miscarriage, I blacked out from the pain more than once.

I woke up drenched in sweat, the world spinning. I bit my lip to keep from screaming, afraid someone would hear.

Lying on the old motel bed, drenched in sweat, only one thought stayed with me: leave Harrison.

I stared at the stained ceiling, counting the cracks. Telling myself I could do it. I could run.

Run as far as I could.

Maybe even start over, somewhere no one knew my name.

I had a nightmare.

It came every night, the same dream over and over. I woke up gasping, heart pounding. Sheets tangled around my legs.

In the dream, Harrison tied me to the bed—no one else could see me, no one else could touch me.

His voice echoed in my ears, telling me I belonged to him, that I’d never be free.

If I got pregnant, he’d force an abortion, then make me heal and do it all again.

The cycle never ended, no matter how hard I tried to escape. Clutching my stomach, I woke up sobbing.

By the time he finally had a legitimate heir, my body would be ruined.

I could see it, clear as day—a life spent in the shadows, used up and forgotten.

Who says you can’t feel pain in dreams?

The ache followed me into waking, sharp and real. I wondered if it would ever go away.

When I woke up, the pain was so real, it was like I’d dragged the hurt back with me.

My whole body ached, my heart most of all. I lay still, letting the tears come.

I felt cold all over, crying quietly.

The motel room was silent except for my sobs. Wishing for comfort that never came, I wrapped myself in the thin blanket.

On other nights back at the estate, my sobs woke Harrison.

Back at the estate, in the safety of his bed, my nightmares followed me. Sometimes I cried without meaning to—the pain too much to hide.

He opened his eyes, voice rough as he pulled me close. “What’s wrong? Dream the housekeeper beat you? Or that I left you?”

His words were soft, almost teasing, but I could hear the worry underneath. He stroked my hair, waiting for me to answer.

I said nothing.

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t trust my voice. I just let him hold me, pretending it was enough.

I just closed my eyes and rested my chin on his shoulder.

His heartbeat was steady, strong. For a moment, I let myself believe I was safe.