I didn't sleep well that night.
Julian's comment about the spare bedroom kept returning to my mind.
"Life can surprise us."
He had said it casually.
Almost playfully.
But I knew what he meant.
He was talking about the baby.
Our baby, according to the plan his family had apparently created.
Except it wasn't our baby.
And nobody had asked me whether I wanted any part of it.
The next morning, I woke up before my alarm.
Julian was already in the bathroom.
I could hear the shower running.
I lay still, looking at the ceiling.
For ten years, I had shared a bed with this man.
I knew how he liked his coffee.
I knew which side of the closet belonged to him.
I knew the sound of his footsteps when he came home late.
But I was beginning to understand that I knew very little about his actual life.
When he came out of the bathroom, he found me sitting on the edge of the bed.
"You're awake early."
"Couldn't sleep."
He looked at me.
"Still feeling sick?"
"A little."
He came over and kissed my forehead.
"Maybe you should take another day off."
I shook my head.
"I'll be fine."
He picked up his watch.
Then he asked something unexpected.
"Did you speak to anyone yesterday?"
I looked at him.
"At work?"
"Anyone."
I tried to keep my expression normal.
"Why?"
He shrugged.
"Just asking."
I smiled faintly.
"Not really."
He nodded.
Then he left the bedroom.
I waited until I heard the front door close.
Something had changed.
He was checking.
Perhaps Sophie had mentioned something.
Perhaps Marta had become nervous.
Or perhaps Julian had simply noticed that I was no longer behaving like the wife he expected.
I didn't know.
But I decided to be more careful.
At work, I could barely concentrate.
I processed insurance claims all morning.
I answered emails.
I spoke with two customers.
I even attended a meeting about a damaged commercial property.
But every time my phone vibrated, I looked at it immediately.
I expected Sophie to contact me.
Nothing came.
Around lunchtime, I sent her a short message.
"I need to see the other messages you mentioned. Can we meet again?"
She replied twenty minutes later.
"Yes. Tomorrow afternoon?"
I agreed.
Then I put my phone away.
I wasn't interested in becoming friends with Sophie.
I wasn't interested in hearing how wonderful Julian had once been.
I needed facts.
Dates.
Messages.
Anything that could help me understand how far this arrangement had gone.
That evening, Julian came home carrying groceries.
He placed two bags on the kitchen counter.
"I thought we could cook together."
I looked at him.
"That's unusual."
He laughed.
"Am I not allowed to help my wife?"
"Of course you are."
He took out a bottle of wine.
Then he placed a small box beside it.
I recognized the packaging.
It was from a jewelry store.
"What's that?"
"Something for you."
I opened it.
Inside was a delicate gold bracelet.
It was beautiful.
It was also completely unexpected.
"Julian, you didn't have to."
"I wanted to."
He fastened it around my wrist.
"There. Perfect."
I looked at the bracelet.
Then I looked at him.
Three weeks earlier, he had taken me to dinner for our anniversary.
Now he was buying me jewelry.
I wondered whether he had bought something for Sophie too.
I wondered whether he had purchased the baby-store items with the same credit card.
"Thank you," I said.
He kissed my cheek.
"You're welcome."
We cooked dinner together.
He chopped vegetables.
I prepared the chicken.
He played music from his phone.
For almost an hour, it felt like an ordinary evening.
Then he asked a question.
"Have you spoken to my mother recently?"
I kept cutting the vegetables.
"She called yesterday."
"What did she want?"
"She asked whether I was coming over this weekend."
He nodded.
"Are you?"
"I haven't decided."
He stopped chopping.
"Why not?"
"I'm tired, Julian."
He looked at me.
"Mom has been asking about you."
I placed the knife down.
"That's nice."
He waited.
I didn't say anything else.
Eventually, he returned to chopping.
But I noticed something.
He wasn't relaxed anymore.
Neither was I.
The following afternoon, I met Sophie again.
She brought a folder this time.
We sat at the same restaurant.
She placed the folder between us.
"I printed some of the conversations."
I opened it.
There were several pages.
Some were ordinary messages about appointments.
Others were conversations about the pregnancy.
I recognized Julian's writing style immediately.
Short sentences.
Few explanations.
He always sounded certain.
One message caught my attention.
It was dated four months earlier.
Julian had written:
"Once the baby arrives, everything will become easier."
I read it twice.
"What did he mean by this?"
Sophie looked uncomfortable.
"He said his family would help arrange things."
"Arrange what?"
She shook her head.
"He never explained everything to me."
I turned another page.
There was a conversation about the spare bedroom.
My spare bedroom.
Julian had written that his mother believed there was already enough space in our house.
Sophie replied that she didn't understand.
Then Julian wrote something that made my stomach turn.
"Claire has always wanted a child. She'll eventually accept the situation."
I placed the paper down.
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
It wasn't just that he had lied.
It was the confidence with which he had decided my future.
He hadn't asked.
He hadn't considered my feelings.
He had simply assumed I would surrender.
I looked at Sophie.
"Did you ever tell him you wanted to raise the baby yourself?"
She nodded.
"Yes. Several times."
"What did he say?"
"He told me that I would still be involved."
I frowned.
"How?"
"He said I could visit."
I stared at her.
"So he expected me to hand over my child?"
Sophie lowered her eyes.
"He said it would be better financially."
I leaned back.
That explained something.
Julian had a comfortable income.
We owned a house together.
We had savings.
And he had spent years watching me struggle with infertility.
Perhaps he thought that made me an easy person to convince.
But there was another question.
"Did he ever discuss marriage with you?"
Sophie hesitated.
"He said he wasn't ready to talk about that."
I nodded slowly.
That was interesting.
He had promised Sophie a family.
He had promised me a marriage.
And he had promised his mother a grandchild she could control.
Nobody seemed to have asked what Sophie wanted.
Nobody had asked what I wanted either.
I closed the folder.
"Can I keep copies of these?"
"Yes."
I placed the pages in my handbag.
Then I looked at her.
"Why did you stay with him after you discovered he was still living with me?"
She didn't answer immediately.
"I believed him when he said your marriage was finished."
"But you knew he hadn't divorced me."
"Yes."
I waited.
She looked down.
"I made excuses. I thought he would eventually do the right thing."
I nodded.
I understood more than I wanted to.
I had also made excuses.
The difference was that I had believed I was the only woman in his life.
Neither of us had known the whole story.
Before we left, Sophie mentioned something else.
"There's one more thing."
I looked at her.
"What?"
"Julian has been asking me to stop sending him messages about the baby."
"Why?"
"He says his family doesn't want unnecessary records."
I frowned.
"Records of what?"
She shook her head.
"He didn't explain."
I thought about the folder.
The printed emails.
The dates.
The strange concern about keeping things quiet.
I asked whether she still had the original messages.
"Yes."
"Keep them."
She nodded.
"Why?"
"Because I don't think this is going to end with one conversation."
She looked frightened.
I couldn't blame her.
Neither of us knew what Julian would do once he realized his carefully arranged story was falling apart.
That evening, I returned home with the folder hidden inside my handbag.
Julian was in the kitchen.
He was making coffee.
He looked at me.
"Where have you been?"
"Shopping."
He glanced at the bag.
"Anything interesting?"
"Just a few things."
He smiled.
Then his eyes moved toward my handbag again.
It was a small movement.
Almost nothing.
But I noticed.
I placed my bag on the dining chair.
He came over and kissed me.
"Mom invited us for dinner Saturday."
I looked at him.
"Both of us?"
"Of course."
I nodded.
"All right."
He seemed pleased.
Then he said something that made my stomach tighten.
"She has something important to discuss with us."
I looked at him.
"About what?"
He smiled.
"Family matters."
I didn't ask again.
I already knew which family matter he meant.
And this time, I wanted to hear every word.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: At Helga’s Dinner Table, His Mother Finally Explained Her Plan, and I Had to Pretend Her Words Didn’t Hurt
My Husband Thought I Was Too Clueless to Understand His Family’s Secret Language, Until One Dinner Changed Everything
Part 5 of 20
