THE SUICIDE

Chapter two : Whispers In The Halls Of Power

Before Juliet came into the world, Madam Delacroix—as society fondly called her—was known for two things: her elegance and her silence. Graceful in every appearance, polished in every word, she carried herself like a queen. But behind every compliment, there lingered a shadow of pity.

“She has everything, yet no child to call her own,” the women in social circles would whisper behind painted smiles.

For years, Mrs. Delacroix endured the unspoken judgment. At parties, her friends would show off their children’s photos. During charity events, they’d ask innocent questions like,

“Still just the two of you?”

The words were always coated in politeness, but she could hear the undertone. In a society where legacy mattered more than love, being childless was seen as a flaw even for someone like her.

She pretended not to care. Her wardrobe was flawless. Her reputation was untouchable. But every baby shower invitation, every family-themed gala, was a reminder that she was different.

She tried to fill the emptiness with fashion, philanthropy, and fame. Her face was on magazines; her name was listed among the country’s most influential women. But none of it stopped the whispers. Some said she was cursed. Others claimed her husband had fathered children elsewhere. A few even suggested she had chosen a childless life to preserve her figure and freedom.

None of them knew the truth: she had tried. Countless doctors, private specialists, and discreet procedures. She had wept in silence after every failure. She had screamed into pillows in rooms no one was allowed to enter. And through it all, her husband grew colder, more distant.

When Juliet finally arrived, it wasn’t just a blessing it was her salvation. A shield against gossip. A proof to the world that she was complete.

But what the world never realized was that Mrs. Delacroix never learned how to be a mother. She only knew how to perform.