Laura
It’s been two weeks since the twins arrived with Mrs. Abigail, two weeks of pretending everything is fine, two weeks of living in a carefully crafted illusion. Every morning, David leaves for work at precisely 7:30 a.m., but not before kissing me on the lips and whispering, “I love you.” The words feel like a habit to him, not a declaration. I’ve stopped trying to decipher them. They leave no warmth behind, only a strange hollowness in my chest.
After he’s gone, I turn to the twins. I dress them, braid their hair, and pack their lunches with mechanical precision. It’s the one part of my day that feels meaningful. But even this small task isn’t fully mine. David has forbidden me from driving, so I sit silently in the backseat as one of his bodyguards takes the wheel. They’re here f
