He frowned and playfully shook his finger at me. “We don’t eat junk food in this house.”
“It’s just a treat, Eric,” I replied, a bit taken aback by his reaction.
He firmly shook his head. “We’ve got to stick to our healthy routine. How about I make us some smoothies instead?”
I sighed, feeling a bit like a child being scolded. “Sure, smoothies sound good.”
Then there was the way he monitored my TV viewing. One night, as I settled in to watch a new drama series, Eric walked in and glanced at the screen.
“Another drama, Mel? How about we watch that documentary on space exploration instead?”
I chuckled. “Eric, not everything has to be intellectually stimulating. Sometimes I just want to unwind and enjoy a good story.”
He sat down next to me and put his arm around my shoulders. “I know, but I just want us to keep learning and growing together. Isn’t that important too?”
He had a way of making it seem like everything he said and did was perfectly reasonable. I mean, how can you argue with someone who wants you to be healthy and knowledgeable?
Our wedding plans brought out more of Eric’s controlling side. He asked a lot of intrusive questions about my health and family background.
I joked that he was more thorough than my doctor, but it was weird. Still, I loved him, and I wanted to believe everything was fine.
I later realized those moments were early signs of the deeper, more sinister influence Eric exerted over my life.
Then came the coffee cup.
It was a chilly Monday morning, and Maria insisted on making me a coffee to go. She handed me the cup with a kind smile, saying, “It’s cold outside. This will keep you warm.”
I thanked her, touched by her thoughtfulness, and took a sip. The warmth spread through me, not just from the coffee, but from her kindness. But as I got to the bottom, I nearly choked on my last sip.
Written inside the cup were the words: “Be careful. Look under his mattress.”
My heart raced as I tried to process what I’d just read. What could it mean? Why would Maria leave me such a cryptic message? That evening, I couldn’t shake the note from my mind.
As soon as Eric left for the gym, I rushed to the bedroom and lifted the mattress.
My heart skipped a beat when I found a large manila envelope taped to the bed frame. I tore it open and found a stack of documents. Each one was an ID of a different woman.
There were at least a dozen.
My blood ran cold. In front of each woman’s photo was a note detailing why she couldn’t be the mother of Eric’s future child. Reasons ranged from “poor health history” to “low intelligence” to “unstable family background.”
My heart sank as the horrifying truth began to dawn on me. Eric had been meticulously searching for the “perfect” woman to bear his child!
I kept rifling through the papers, each one more damning than the last.
