Chapter 3 - Secrets in the Dark
The investors left at midnight. From my dark room, I heard the heavy front door slam, followed by the sound of arguing voices in the hallway.
"She ruined it, Mother!" Daniel’s voice carried through the floorboards. "Vance hesitated on the second tranche of funding because he thinks my domestic life is chaotic!"
"Then fix it, Daniel," Vivian’s cold voice replied. "You never should have married a girl with no family backing. But she signed the prenuptial agreement. If she becomes too much of a burden, we can always find a way to declare her unfit. The child stays with us for the family image, of course. A handsome young CEO with a tragic, unstable ex-wife always plays well in the press."
My breath caught in my throat. Declare me unfit.
They were already planning it. They wanted to take Lily from me and cast me out with nothing. The prenup I had naively signed years ago stated that if we divorced under normal circumstances, I would receive a modest settlement. But if I was deemed mentally or physically incapable of custody, I would get nothing, and the Hale family would retain sole guardianship of any heirs.
I looked down at Lily, who was now sleeping peacefully in her bassinet. Fear tried to paralyze me, but the protective instinct of a mother took over. I needed proof of their cruelty. I needed a lifeline.
The next morning, Daniel left for the office early, leaving me alone with Vivian. She handed me a list of chores that would have exhausted a healthy athlete, let alone a woman four days postpartum.
"I have a charity luncheon," Vivian said, drawing on her leather gloves. "When I return at three, the silver must be polished."
The moment her town car pulled out of the driveway, I didn't reach for the silver polish. Instead, I went to Daniel’s private study—a room I was strictly forbidden to enter. My heart hammered against my ribs as I pushed the heavy oak door open.
The room smelled of expensive scotch and leather. I bypassed his desk and went straight to the filing cabinets hidden behind the bookshelf. I needed to see the original copy of the prenuptial agreement, and more importantly, any medical records Daniel might be falsifying.
As I searched through the folders, my hand brushed against a locked leather journal. Using a paperclip from the desk, my hands shaking, I picked the cheap lock—a skill I had learned out of sheer survival during a childhood spent in underfunded foster homes.
Inside were pages of Vivian’s handwriting. It wasn't a journal; it was a log.
“Clara showed signs of emotional instability today.” “Clara refused to perform household duties, citing fabricated physical ailments.” “Spoke to Dr. Harrison. He agrees that with the right medication regimen, we can document a history of postpartum psychosis.”
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Dr. Harrison was the Hale family doctor. He was the one who had cleared me for discharge from the hospital so early, despite my protests.
They weren't just waiting for me to fail. They were actively manufacturing my madness.
