The day I opened my husband’s drawer after moving in with him, my blood froze.
When Freya was prepared to start her married life, she moved into her husband George’s family home. But their vows were about to fall apart when Valerie, the maid, told Freya about George’s secret existence.
After my wedding, I moved into my husband’s family’s house, which seemed like something from a fantasy book. It was adorned with flowers all around, arches, fountains, and lofty ceilings.
Before we travelled for our honeymoon in the South of France, George had wanted me to move in and settle down.
However, nothing was what it looked to be. Valerie, the maid, gave me a look that said, “You don’t belong here,” from the first day. I attempted to ignore it, since I was going to be here. That was going to be Valerie’s problem.
After a few days of getting settled in, I made my new family breakfast. I made arrangements for a big spread because the house was enormous and George’s younger brother and sister were still living there.
Valerie washed the countertops and stood with me in the kitchen, watching everything I did. I felt uneasy with her. My phone was missing when I stretched across the table to hunt for it so I could look up different recipes for preparing eggs.
“Have you seen my phone?” Confident that it had been on the table in front of Valerie, I questioned.
Valerie shook her head and gave me a fleeting glance.
“If I were you, I would rush the breakfast,” she remarked icily. “The family expects it on the table before they come downstairs.”
Valerie left the kitchen as I completed my breakfast, following her suggestion.
After a while, I discovered my phone on the chair Valerie had just exited. However, the text displayed on the screen was what completely changed my perspective:
Examine your spouse’s drawer. especially the one on the upper left. Then bolt!
With my heart racing, I headed to our bedroom while the cautionary tale replayed itself in my mind. Valerie had folded the things we’d thrown on the floor the previous evening and made the bed while I was out.
Feeling a wave of dread come over me, I stopped before pulling out the drawer. As I opened it, I had no idea what would happen. I had no idea what secrets George had hidden from me.
I discovered an antique key and a stack of letters tied with a fading ribbon inside. My spouse penned the letters, which were addressed to an Elena.
I read every letter while sitting on our bed; they were all about a future and love that George had pledged to someone else.
My heart broke a little more with every syllable. The last letter was a farewell; based on the date, it was written three days prior to George’s proposal to me.
What about the key?
“Do you know what this key is for?” When I noticed that it didn’t fit in our room, Ivy—George’s younger sister—asked.
She looked at the key and remarked, “Oh, I think it’s for the attic,” George loved that room, therefore it must be. I have no idea why, but it has always seemed so gloomy and draughty to me. It’s been years since I visited.
I made my way to the attic and saw that it was exactly as draughty and dark as Ivy had described.
But my blood ran cold the moment I turned on the light.
The room’s walls were lined with pictures of my spouse and a woman, who I presumed to be Elena. Their love was evident in every picture, radiating off the paper.
It made fun of me. It made fun of our union. It made fun of every emotion I felt for George.
Before my knees gave out, I sat in the room’s lone recliner and took in my surroundings. At that moment, my gaze accidentally landed on an ultrasound that was affixed on the wall beneath a picture of George and Elena dancing in a courtyard.
George and Elena were expecting a child. They were, of course.
How he could have kept it a secret from me for so long baffled me.
It was one thing to know the truth about Elena, but to conceal a baby from me? That was just unthinkable.
As I went through each picture, I kept asking myself how Elena could have left George while she was carrying his kid.
A quiet voice asked, “Freya?” from the doorway.
“Valerie,” I said, suddenly conscious of the fact that I wasn’t supposed to be there.
She uttered, “You weren’t supposed to find out this way,” in a sympathetic whisper.
“You knew about this?” Unsure of how to approach her, I asked.
She slowly nodded.
I am Elena’s sister. She believed that the truth should be known by you. I cleaned up this morning and placed the letters she gave me in George’s drawer.”
“And the baby?” I questioned, sounding hesitant.
Valerie told me about Elena while she rested against the wall. Elena was invited to help with cleaning by Valerie two years ago when the family was organising their annual Christmas celebration.
“They clicked right away. They subsequently fell in love. However, George refused to interact with Elena after she learned about the baby and his illness.”
According to Valerie, George was ready to wed Elena out of love, but he thought of them as a burden when he learned the child had Down syndrome.
“He assured Elena that he would speak up for her and help his family realise that she was more than just a housekeeper. However, circumstances altered.”
We all proceeded into the living room together, where George was not to be found and the family was relaxing. I told his parents about the photoshelved attic and the letters.
Valerie informed them about Elena’s pregnancy.
After we were finished, George entered the living room, clearly showing that he had heard the talk from someone else.
His father asked, staring at my husband, “Is this true?”
George remained silent, which was a damning admission.
Family strife broke quite quickly. George’s inheritance was stopped, and it was now used to help Elena and her unborn child.
And me?
George didn’t even attempt to challenge the divorce; he was devastated by the loss of his wealth. I was given the divorce. Using funds intended for George, my in-laws gave me a fresh start.
In order to be sure that the foundation I laid for Elena’s child was the true victory, I sold off some of them. a foundation serving kids with impairments. With my help and that of George’s mother, who disowned her son as soon as she learned about the baby, Valerie now handles it.
