The Scorned wife's revenge

Chapter 3

Prayer and Practice

Three years, that's how long it's been since that night, the night they called me barren. Three years of smiling through whispers, of pretending the silence in our home didn't ache. Three years of holding on to love like it was air, even when it hurt to breathe.

I still wake up before Damien most mornings. I make coffee, I sit by the window, and I watch the world outside move like it doesn't care.

Some days I think about walking away, and most days I remind myself why I stay and that's all because I love him. Because he still looks at me like everything he ever wanted.

But love doesn't silence the voices in my head and it all started with herbs. My mother's friend swore to them that the roots boiled in bitter water and mixed with honey would solve my bareness. I drank them every night, prayed before I swallowed, prayed after and I even prayed for the pain to mean something.

Damien didn't know about all of it. I told him the teas were for stress. He just smiled and said, "if it helps you, drink it."

He never asked for more and he never blamed me. That's what made it harder. His kindness hurt worse than his anger ever could have.

Then came the appointments and secret ones. I'd sneak out in the afternoons, saying I was visiting my mother, when really I was sitting in a clinic waiting room filled with quiet women who looked like me, desperate and hopefully tired.

I signed my name on the sheet. "Mrs. Elara Moreau." The nurse smiled like she'd seen that name before or maybe she had.

But I wasn't ashamed but I was just scared. The doctor was kind. "It might be stressful," she said after the first check-up. "Or hormonal imbalance. We'll do more tests."

I nodded, clutching my bag. "Just tell me what to do."

"Come back next week for your results."

I walked out into the cold air, pulling my coat tighter. I didn't tell Damien, not yet. I wanted to wait until I had something real and hopeful to say.

That night, I came home late and Damien was sitting in the living room with his jacket off, his sleeves were rolled up, and his eyes were tired.

"Long day?" he asked, glancing up from his laptop.

"Yeah. Mama wasn't feeling too good." I sat beside him, trying to hide the lie in my tone.

He smiled faintly and closed the laptop. "You look pale. Did you eat?"

"I'm fine."

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "You've been saying that a lot lately."

I smiled weakly. "Because it's true."

He kissed my forehead, lingering there. "You know I don't need anything more right? If it's just us, I'm okay with that."

His words were gentle, but they pierced right through me because I wasn't okay with that. I wanted to give him more like a child, a family, proof that I could belong here in more than name.

The next morning, I lit a candle in the small prayer corner of our room. My mother had given me the wooden cross before I married Damien. I held it in my hand and whispered softly, "please... just one chance."

The wax dripped slowly like tears. When Damien came in, he leaned on the doorframe, watching me. "You've been praying every morning now."

"Can't hurt to try," I said, smiling faintly.

He came closer, wrapping his arms around me from behind. "If prayer is what keeps you strong, then pray. Just don't forget the rest too."

I leaned into him, with my eyes closed. "I'm trying."

He kissed my temple, and for a moment, I believed everything could still work out.

The days passed quietly and Damien worked longer hours. I stayed home more often, reading, cleaning, and pretending the house didn't feel too big for two people.

Sometimes I'd catch myself in the mirror, touching my stomach like there was something missing there.

Celeste still visited and she'd walk in like she owned the place, and her perfumes filled every corner.

One afternoon, she looked at me with that same sharp smile. "Still just the two of you, huh?"

I kept folding laundry. "Yes."

"Mother says patience is a virtue," she said, flipping her hair. "Though she also says time doesn't wait forever."

I looked at her then, my voice calm. "Your mother should worry about her own patience."

Her smile faltered for half a second, then she laughed, tossing her bag on the couch. "You've grown a little spine, and I like that."

I didn't answer but I just kept folding.

That week, I returned to the clinic. The nurse led me to the waiting area, her voice was soft. "Doctor will be with you soon."

I sat there, with my hands clenched on my lap. The clock ticked loud and every second felt like it was counting down something bigger than just test results.

There was a man in the corner on the phone, whispering into this device. I barely noticed him, and not until my own phone buzzed with a message from Damien.

Running late. Don't wait until dinner, I'll be home later.

I sighed after reading his text and typed back. Okay, be safe.

The nurse called my name, and I stood, smoothing my skirt. But just before I followed her in, I heard a voice. It was deep and familiar.

And I froze when I discovered it was Damien, my husband. He was around the corner, near the clinic's exit, with his back turned. His tone was low and serious.

"I did as you asked."

That's what he said and my blood ran cold. I couldn't move. I couldn't even breathe and I was wondering who he was talking to.

He paused, listening. Then he said, "No, she doesn't know. And I'd like to keep it that way."

My heart slammed against my ribs. The nurse peeked her head out. "Mrs. Moreau?"

I blinked, stepping back, my voice shaky. "J... just a second."

Damien's voice dropped again. "Yes, I'll handle the rest. Don't worry, Mother."

I felt the floor tilt beneath me when I heard the word mother. By the time I gathered the strength to look again, he was gone. Just the faint echo of his footsteps remained like a ghost passing through the quiet hallway.

The nurse touched my arm gently. "Are you alright?"

I forced a weak smile. "Yes. I just... just need a minute."

She nodded, stepping back. I leaned against the wall, my hands trembling so hard I had to clutch them together. My mind raced.

He'd been talking to his mother about me and about something I didn't know. And the words repeated again and again in my head. "I did as you asked."

What had he done? And why did it sound like betrayal dressed in love? The candle from that morning flickered in my memory. My prayer hung in the air unanswered.

And somewhere deep inside, a cold fear whispered and maybe it wasn't heaven I should've been praying to and maybe I should've been praying for the truth.