Chapter 3 - MARA'S SECRET
Three days later, Mara came to the hospital.
She didn't enter immediately.
She stood outside the glass door for almost a minute.
When she finally walked in, she looked different.
No expensive sunglasses.
No polished smile.
No lawn chair.
Just a woman carrying guilt like it had become physically heavy.
I stared at her.
She sat down.
“I don't expect you to forgive me.”
“Good.”
Her eyes filled.
“I deserve that.”
“You watched.”
“I know.”
“You laughed.”
She looked down.
“I know.”
“You moved your chair.”
Her face crumpled.
“I know.”
I waited.
She wiped her cheek.
“I thought he was trying to scare you.”
“He buried me.”
“I know.”
“He left me outside overnight.”
“I know.”
“He poured water on me.”
“I know.”
“And you stayed.”
Mara nodded.
“I was afraid of him.”
I stared at her.
“So was I.”
That broke her.
She covered her face.
“I should have helped you.”
“Yes.”
“I should have called the police.”
“Yes.”
“I should have done something.”
“Yes.”
She lowered her hands.
“I brought you something.”
She placed an envelope on the bed.
I didn't touch it.
“What is it?”
“Copies.”
“Of what?”
“Bank records.”
I looked at her.
“My husband's?”
She nodded.
“What do they prove?”
“That he wasn't punishing you because you disobeyed.”
I opened the envelope.
Inside were printed statements.
Transfers.
Large amounts.
Recurring payments.
Several accounts I had never seen.
“What am I looking at?”
“He's been moving money.”
“Where?”
“To another account.”
“Whose?”
Mara swallowed.
“His girlfriend's.”
I felt nothing.
Not shock.
Not sadness.
Just exhaustion.
“Of course.”
Mara stared at me.
“There is more.”
She pulled out another document.
A property transfer.
My name was on it.
My stomach tightened.
“What is this?”
“He tried to transfer the house.”
“To whom?”
Mara didn't answer.
I looked at the second name.
Her face went pale.
“That's your name.”
She nodded.
“What?”
“He was going to transfer the house to me.”
The room became silent.
“Why?”
“He said you wouldn't be around much longer.”
I stared at her.
She began crying again.
“I didn't know what he meant.”
“You didn't ask?”
“I was scared.”
“You accepted the house?”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“I signed nothing.”
She pushed another document toward me.
“He forged my signature.”
My fingers went cold.
“And yours?”
Mara nodded.
“Your signature too.”
I looked at the paperwork.
The more I read, the clearer it became.
This wasn't only about cruelty.
It was about control.
Money.
Property.
A plan.
My husband had not simply wanted me obedient.
He wanted me powerless.
He wanted the house.
The insurance.
The accounts.
And eventually, everything connected to the child I was carrying.
Mara whispered:
“He told Mom that once you were gone, everything would be easier.”
I looked at her.
“Gone?”
She nodded.
“He never said dead.”
“But you knew.”
She started crying again.
“Yes.”
I pushed the envelope away.
“You should have called the police.”
“I know.”
“You should have saved me.”
“I know.”
“But you didn't.”
“I know.”
I looked toward the window.
“Then don't ask me to forgive you.”
She stood slowly.
“I won't.”
She reached the door.
Then stopped.
“One more thing.”
I didn't turn.
“He has a safe.”
I looked at her.
“Where?”
“In his office.”
“What is inside?”
“I don't know.”
She hesitated.
“But he told Mom never to let anyone find the blue folder.”
My heartbeat quickened.
“Blue folder?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say about it?”
Mara's voice dropped.
“He said it could destroy him.”
She left.
I stared at the closed door.
For the first time, my fear was replaced by something else.
Curiosity.
My husband had spent months trying to convince everyone that I was unstable.
He had lied.
He had manipulated.
He had buried me.
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But apparently, somewhere inside that house, he had hidden something powerful enough to frighten even himself.
And I intended to find it.
