CHAPTER 1
They say marriage takes you places you never imagined. I just never thought mine would end in a psychiatric hospital.”
“You both will make the best couple.” That was what everyone said on our wedding day.
But that couldn’t have been further from the truth. When I got married, I pictured myself as a full-time housewife taking care of the home, cooking, and sharing beautiful moments with the love of my life.
None of that happened.
I stretched out my hand and picked up the photo frame from our wedding. My fingers traced the edges slowly.
Matthew wasn’t the perfect man I thought he was. His gentle, charming appearance had only tricked me into believing he was.
Our first year of marriage was spent begging for his love and validation. He left for work early and came home late.
I cooked endlessly, but he never looked twice at the food.
To make matters worse, he never agreed to consummate our marriage.
No makeup was beautiful enough to get his attention. No lingerie was seductive enough to make him look at me.
To him, I didn’t exist.
“Sign this.” His voice was cold as he handed me a document. “The prenup, we agreed on it before the wedding.” That was the only time he looked at me.
I lay on my stomach, staring at another frame on the bedside table.
Our first wedding anniversary.
After a year of loneliness, all I could think about was divorce—healing from the heartbreak and finally gaining control of my life.
But that day…
That day changed everything. Matthew took me shopping himself. “You look pretty,” he said. But his eyes weren’t on me. They were on the dress.
At the party, my mother burst into tears. “Thank you,” she said, hugging him.
“Thank you for taking care of my daughter.” “I really appreciate it,” my father added. They were so happy. So proud. Convinced they had given their daughter to the right man. I forced a smile.
“We’re expecting kids soon, right?” My sister’s voice cut through the moment. She tilted her head slightly, a mockery hidden beneath her smile. “Or… do you have fertility issues?”
My fingers tightened at my sides.
Before I could respond, Matthew reached for my hand. Every muscle in me got tensed at once.
It was the first intentional touch he had given me in our entire marriage.
“We’ll start working on that soon,” he said with a soft smile.
That was all it took.
Every thought of divorce disappeared that day.
That night, I tried again. I wore the sexiest lingerie. Did my makeup perfectly. Took my time. But when I moved closer I stiffened. He smelled different.
“Did you get a new perfume?” I asked. He didn’t answer. Instead, he shoved me away. My eyes fell to the back of his neck. Lipstick. Clear. Bold.
Undeniable. I grabbed his collar, pulling him closer.
“Are you cheating on me?” My voice trembled. “You won’t touch me, but you’re out there sleeping with another woman?”
Slap.
The sound rang in my ears. My head snapped to the side. “Stay out of my business,” he said coldly.
That night marked the beginning of our second year of marriage. And the beginning of the violence.
Not long after, my husband had me admitted into a psychiatric hospital. Using his influence. I still don’t know how he did it. But he convinced everyone.
The doctors.
My parents.
Everyone believed I was mentally unstable. He signed me up for a one-year program. Then reduced it to six months, telling my parents he couldn’t bear to be away from me for that long.
They believed him.
I cried endlessly in that room.
I broke things. Screamed. Fought. And the more I resisted— the more they believed I was insane.
My “six months” quickly became a year. I stood up from the bed, my chest rising and falling rapidly.
Without thinking, I grabbed both frames and threw them across the room. They shattered against the door.
Glass scattered everywhere. A sharp heat rushed through my body, frustration clawing at my chest. I screamed.
The door burst open.
