I thought I was probably talking to her and I didn’t want to interrupt. But just when I was about to close the door again, I heard a strange sound.

At first I thought it was my imagination, but it kept repeating itself. They were soft, muted, but clear noises. It wasn’t about the groans of a sick person, it was something else, contained, disturbing.

Fear and curiosity engulfed me at the same time. Made it step by step to the wooden door. It was open, and a narrow band of light escaped into the hallway.

I leaned against the doorframe, my breath labored. My gaze fell on the silhouette of my husband, Adrián, standing in his mother’s room.

He hadn’t noticed my presence, too absorbed in what he was doing.

In the dimness, I saw him clearly: he was sitting next to Elena’s bed, squeezing her hand with a disturbing intensity, unbecoming of a worried son.

At first, I tried to convince myself that maybe she was feeling ill, that she needed support.

But his gestures weren’t those of a son toward a mother.

Those clasped hands were too close, those glances carried something I couldn’t name except as forbidden.

Then I heard those sounds again: whispers, shallow breaths, a restrained intimacy that chilled my blood.

An icy chill ran through my body.

I couldn’t believe it. On my first wedding night, in a house that still smelled of flowers and was filled with wedding gifts, my husband was there… with his mother.

I wanted to scream, but my voice caught in my throat. I felt like the floor was crumbling beneath my feet.

I took a step back, but the door creaked softly.

At that moment, Adrian abruptly looked up. His eyes met mine through the crack of light.

I saw panic, guilt, and also anger in them. Elena turned too, pale as wax, and quickly pulled her hand from his.

“Clara…” Adrian murmured in a choked voice.

I ran back to our room, tears spilling down my cheeks.

I wanted to wake up and discover it was all a nightmare. But it wasn’t. I heard his footsteps in the hallway, hurried and heavy.

“Clara, let me explain!” his voice came through the door. “It’s not what you think!”

But how could it be anything else? The image was too clear, the gestures too obvious.

I spent the whole night sitting on the edge of the bed, motionless, my soul shattered.

When the first light of dawn entered through the window, I realized I was no longer the same woman who had been wearing the wedding dress just hours before.

Something inside me had died forever.

The next day, before the guests returned for the banquet, I silently gathered some of my things and left the house.

Adrian was waiting for me at the door, his eyes red from lack of sleep, but he couldn’t utter a single word.

Some might say I ran away. I prefer to think I saved my soul. Because what I saw that night I will never forget.

And still today, a question torments me: Since when did all this happen, even before the wedding?

And, above all, was I just a piece in a sick game that I never understood?