Chapter 2 - The Art of Playing the Ghost
By 6:00 a.m., the pale morning light was cutting through the heavy velvet drapes of our master bedroom. I lay rigidly beneath the Egyptian cotton sheets, listening to the rhythmic, heavy breathing of Nicholas beside me. To anyone walking past our door, we were the picture of domestic bliss—a successful corporate lawyer and his devoted, fragile wife, resting after a long night with their infant son.
Nicholas rolled over, his arm heavy and casual as it draped across my waist. His touch made my skin crawl, every nerve ending screaming to tear away from him. But I forced my body to remain limp, breathing slowly and evenly, mimicking the drugged slumber he expected me to be in.
“Sophie?” he murmured, his voice thick with morning sleep. He nudged my shoulder. “Sophie, wake up, sweetheart. It’s time for your morning vitamins.”
I let out a soft, pathetic groan, blinking my eyes open with deliberate sluggishness. I stared at him with wide, unfocused eyes—the exact expression of dazed confusion I had worn for the past three months.
“Nicholas?” I whispered, my voice raspy and thin. “What... what time is it?”
“It’s six-thirty, darling,” he said, flashing that dazzling, predatory smile that used to make my heart flutter. He sat up, reaching over to the nightstand where he had neatly placed a glass of water and the swapped bottle of vitamins. He popped two of the small white pills into his palm and held them out to me. “Here. Take these. Dr. Harrison said consistency is key if you want to feel like yourself again.”
I looked at the pills in his palm. They weren't postpartum vitamins; they were low-grade neuroleptics designed to induce lethargy, brain fog, and compliant docility.
“My stomach feels so strange lately, Nicholas,” I whispered, letting a single tear escape my eye—a performance worthy of an Academy Award. “Do I really need them?”
“Do you want to end up back in the hospital, Sophie?” His voice dropped an octave, the warmth instantly draining from his face to reveal the cruel tyrant underneath. “Do you want everyone to see you screaming in the hallways, clutching your head like a lunatic? Take the damn pills.”
I forced a trembling nod, took the pills from his hand, and tossed them under my tongue. I lifted the glass of water, swallowed hard, and opened my mouth wide to show him they were gone.
A smug look of satisfaction washed over his face. He kissed my forehead—a dry, passionless peck—and stood up to head toward the walk-in closet. “Good girl. I have a major deposition this morning, so I’ll be late. Don’t leave the house. Helen is coming over at ten to help with Julian.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
May you like
The moment the bathroom door clicked shut behind him, I rushed to the en-suite sink, spat the pills out into the porcelain basin, and watched them dissolve under a torrent of scalding hot water.
If Nicholas wanted a crazy wife, I would give him an illusion so convincing he would walk right into my trap.
