The Golden Mending

CHAPTER 7 - The Silent Theft

The house felt like a tomb that night. Roy had retreated to the guest room with Putri, claiming he needed to "protect" her from my "instability." I was left alone in our master bedroom—the room that used to smell like lavender and shared dreams, now smelling only of betrayal.

I didn't sleep. I couldn't.

At 3:00 AM, I slipped out of bed. My movements were fluid, practiced, like a shadow moving through the halls. I needed a hair. A swab. Anything that carried the genetic code of the baby, Intan.

I reached the nursery door. It creaked slightly, a sound that felt as loud as a gunshot in the silence. I held my breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. Inside, the dim glow of the nightlight cast long, distorted shadows on the walls.

Putri was fast asleep on the daybed, her mouth slightly open, looking nothing like the victim she pretended to be. In the crib, the baby stirred but didn't wake.

I approached the crib, my hands trembling. I felt a pang of guilt. This child was innocent, caught in a web of adult lies. But I had to know. If she was Roy’s daughter, why the oncology bills? Why the missing birth records?

I saw a stray hair on the baby’s silk pillowcase. I carefully picked it up with a pair of tweezers and placed it in a small plastic bag. Then, I turned my attention to the nightstand.

There was a used pacifier. And next to it, a discarded tissue with a smear of Putri’s lipstick.

I took them both.

"What are you doing, Lala?"

A voice sliced through the dark. I froze. Roy was standing in the doorway, his silhouette blocking the light from the hallway. He wasn't wearing his glasses, and his hair was disheveled, but his eyes were sharp with suspicion.

"The baby was crying," I lied, my voice remarkably steady. I hid the small bags in the deep pocket of my silk robe. "I came to check on her."

Roy walked into the room, his gaze moving from me to the sleeping Putri. "She’s fine. Go back to bed, Lala. You’re acting... strange. Putri is right, you need professional help."

"Maybe I do, Roy," I said, walking past him. "But maybe the help I need isn't a therapist. Maybe it’s a private investigator."

I felt his gaze burning into my back as I walked away. I didn't stop until I was locked in the bathroom. I pulled out the plastic bags and stared at them.

Tomorrow, I would take these to a private lab. Tomorrow, the "legacy" Roy was so desperate to protect would be put to the ultimate test.

As I looked at my reflection in the mirror, I didn't see the "Ghost Wife" anymore. I saw a woman who was finally taking back the keys to her own life.

The truth was expensive. But silence was costing me everything.