As I pulled into the driveway of our massive home, Christopher ran out to meet me. He looked so handsome in his white linen shirt, his face glowing with a smile.
“Welcome home, my queen!” he said, pulling me into a warm hug. “How was the seminar? Did you impress the international partners?”
“It was fine, Chris,” I managed to say, forcing a smile. “Just a bit exhausting.”
“You look pale, Gracie. Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, his eyes filled with worry. He touched my cheek gently. “Maybe we should see the doctor again? Just for a check-up?”
I pulled away slightly. “No! No more doctors, Chris. I just need to rest.”
I didn’t tell him about the girl. How could I? How could I tell my husband that a stranger on the street called him a rituaIist who locked my womb? It sounded like a crazy story from a movie.
For the next two weeks, I tried to be a good wife, but the seed of doubt had been planted. I started having flashbacks of our early years. I remembered the night after our wedding, six years ago. We were so happy.
“Gracie,” Christopher had whispered that night, “I will give you everything. I will protect you from the world. You don’t need anyone else but me.”
At that time, I thought it was romantic. Now, I wondered… did “protecting me” mean keeping me all to himself?
Two weeks later, Christopher traveled out of town for a business meeting. He was going to be away for three days.
That evening, I came back from work feeling restless. To keep my mind busy, I decided to do some deep cleaning. Our house is a very big mansion with many rooms we don’t even use.
I went into the guest room on the top floor. It was a beautiful room, but it felt cold. As I was dusting, I noticed the large Wardrobe in the corner. I reached for the handle, but it wouldn’t Open.
“That’s strange,” I muttered. “Since when is this wardrobe locked?”
I went to the kitchen and grabbed the spare key bowl. I brought all the keys to the guest room. I tried the first key. It didn’t fit. I tried the second, the third, the tenth.
None of them worked. I even tried the keys to the front gate and the back door, but none could even enter the keyhole.
I sat on the floor, staring at the wardrobe. My heart began to beat fast.
There is this strange mad girl that approached me and handed over a key to me, saying that it’s the key that my husband used to lock my womb.
I didn’t collect the key at first because I thought she was just foolish. I thought she was just a poor girl who had lost her mind. But now, everything is different. I saw a strange, large wardrobe in the guest room upstairs. I tried to open it with every key in this house, and it didn’t work.
That evening, I was still standing in the guest room, staring at the dark wood of the wardrobe, when I heard the front door slam. My heart jumped. It was Christopher.
“I’m home!” he shouted from downstairs.
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