CHAPTER 3 - The Ghost in the Hallway
470 Words
The first week was a blur of sleepless nights and silent screams.
My home, once a sanctuary of soft jazz and the scent of vanilla candles, was now a battlefield of baby cries and the sharp, medicinal smell of formula. Roy had become a stranger. He didn't look at me anymore; his eyes were always fixed on the nursery, or on Putri.
"Lala, could you help Putri with the laundry?" Roy asked one morning, not even looking up from his laptop. "She’s still so tired. The doctor said she needs to rest."
"The doctor," I repeated, my voice flat. "Which doctor, Roy? The one who delivered Intan?"
Roy stiffened for a second, then relaxed. "Yes, of course. Why do you ask?"
"Just curious," I said, picking up the basket of laundry.
I headed to the guest room—the room that used to be my studio. Now, it was filled with Putri’s silk robes and expensive perfumes. As I gathered the clothes, a small, glossy piece of paper fell out from under the mattress.
It was an ultrasound photo.
I picked it up, my heart hammering against my ribs. I looked at the date in the top corner. September 15th. My breath hitched. If the baby was born three weeks ago, this ultrasound should have shown a much smaller fetus. But the image on the paper... the development of the spine, the size of the head... it didn't match the timeline Roy had told me.
"What are you doing in here?"
I jumped, nearly dropping the photo. Putri was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Her "tired" look was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating stare.
"Just cleaning," I said, tucking the photo into my pocket with a trembling hand. "Roy asked me to help."
Putri walked toward me, her footsteps silent on the carpet. She smelled like expensive roses and something metallic. "You're very diligent, Lala. A perfect wife. But remember... a wife who asks too many questions often finds answers she’s not ready to hear."
"I've survived seven years of silence, Putri," I replied, meeting her gaze. "I think I can handle the truth."
Putri laughed—a short, sharp sound that felt like a slap. "We'll see. Roy is already wrapped around my finger. And the baby... she’s the anchor that keeps him here. You? You’re just the ghost wandering the halls of a house that no longer belongs to you."
She snatched the laundry basket from my hand and walked out, leaving me alone in the room that used to be mine.
I pulled the ultrasound photo from my pocket and stared at it again. The numbers didn't lie. Putri was hiding something. Something big. And for the first time in seven years, I didn't feel like a victim.
I felt like a hunter.
- Writer
