Fear.
From that day on, I started paying attention to little things.
Daniel always came to bed after I had fallen asleep. Sometimes, in the morning, I found his phone underneath our bed. Once, I noticed that he had a separate folder for photographs.
The folder had only one word as its name.
“Emily.”
It was password-protected.
I tried to open it, but couldn’t.
The most frightening thing happened the following week.
One night, I pretended to be asleep.
Daniel waited about twenty minutes.
Then he came closer.
Once again, he lifted my nightgown.
This time, he wasn’t holding only his phone.
He also had a small measuring tape.
He carefully measured my belly, entered some numbers into his phone, and took another photograph.
Then he whispered:
“Please… don’t let it be too late this time.”
My heart began pounding.
Too late for what?
Why was my husband measuring my body in the middle of the night?
And why was he doing all of this secretly?
Over the next few days, I began to fear my own bedroom.
Daniel had never hit me or threatened me. But now, every time he touched me, I remembered those nighttime photographs.
Until one morning, while taking a shower, I noticed that the skin on certain parts of my belly had become irritated.
For several weeks, I’d also been experiencing a strange feeling of heaviness.
I decided to see a doctor.
I didn’t tell Daniel.
Dr. Sarah Miller was a woman in her fifties with a calm voice and attentive eyes.
She listened to my complaints, examined my belly, and asked a few routine questions.
Then she asked:
“Does your husband know you’re here?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I remained silent for a long moment.
Then I told her about the nighttime photographs, the measuring tape, and the strange whispers.
The doctor’s expression turned serious.
“Emily, I need to ask you something very important. Has your husband ever forced you to do something you didn’t want to do?”
I swallowed back my tears.
“Yes… for seventeen years.”
She pulled her chair closer.
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“Why haven’t you told anyone all these years?”
