Freya was eager to start her life as a newlywed, so she moved into her husband George’s family estate.
However, when Valerie, the maid, told Freya about George’s secret life, their vows were immediately broken.
Fresh off my wedding high, I moved into my husband’s family house, which seemed straight out of a fairy tale. It had high ceilings, arches, fountains, and flowers everywhere.
George had wanted me to move in and settle down before we went on our honeymoon in the South of France.
But not everything was as it appeared. From the start, Valerie, the maid, gave me a look that said, “You don’t belong here.” I tried to shake it off, but I was here to stay. Valerie was going to have to deal with it.
A few days after moving in, I decided to prepare breakfast for my new family. The house was massive, and George’s younger brother and sister still lived there, so I planned for a substantial spread.
Valerie stood in the kitchen with me, watching every motion I made while she washed the countertops. She made me nervous. When I leaned across the table to go for my phone to check up other egg recipes, it was not there.
“Have you seen my phone?” I asked Valerie, convinced that it was on the table in front of her.
Valerie shook her head, scarcely glancing my direction.
“I’d hurry up with the breakfast if I were you,” she replied coldly. “The family expects it on the table before they come downstairs.”
I followed her suggestion and completed breakfast as Valerie left the kitchen.
I soon spotted my phone, which was left on the seat Valerie had just gone. But the message on the screen turned my world upside down.
Check your husband’s drawer. The upper left one, especially. Then RUN!
My pulse thumping, I made my way to our bedroom, the warning repeating in my thoughts. Valerie had made the bed and folded the clothes we had left on the floor the night before.
I hesitated before opening the drawer, a feeling of fear pouring over me. I wasn’t sure what would happen when I opened it. I had no idea what mysteries George had waiting for me to discover.
Inside, I discovered a stack of letters tied with a fading ribbon and an ancient key. My husband wrote letters to someone named Elena.
I sat on our bed and read through them all — each letter spoke of a love and future that George had promised another person.
Each word broke my heart a little more. The final letter was a farewell; according to the date, it was soon before George proposed to me—three days before, to be exact.
And the key?
“Do you know what this key is for?” When I realized it wouldn’t fit in our room, I asked George’s younger sister, Ivy.
“Oh, I think it’s for the attic,” she explained, studying the key. “It must be; that was George’s favorite room. I’m not sure why; it’s always seemed dark and drafty to me. I haven’t gone there in years.”
I found my way to the attic, and it was just as dark and drafty as Ivy had said.
But once I turned on the light, my blood ran cold.
The walls of the room were covered in photographs of my husband and a woman — Elena, I assumed. In each photograph, their love was clear, bouncing off the paper.
It mocked me. It mocked our marriage. It mocked all the feelings I had for George.
I sat in the only armchair in the room, taking in the surroundings before my knees could give way. That’s when my eyes found their way to an ultrasound, stuck onto the wall beneath a photograph of George and Elena dancing in a courtyard.
George and Elena were about to have a kid. Of course they were.
I didn’t understand how he could have kept it from me for so long.
The truth about Elena was one thing, but hiding a baby from me? That was impossible.
I was gazing through each shot, wondering how George could have abandoned Elena while she was pregnant with his kid.
“Freya?” a sweet voice said from the doorway.
“Valerie,” I murmured, immediately aware that I had found myself in an inappropriate situation.
“You weren’t supposed to find out this way,” she replied, her voice soft and sympathetic.
“You knew about this?” I questioned, unsure of how to approach her.
She nodded slowly.
“Elena is my sister.” She felt you deserved to know the truth. She gave me the letters, which I put in George’s drawer this morning when tidying up.
“And the baby?” I inquired, my voice quivering.
Valerie leaned against the wall, telling me about Elena. When the family was arranging their annual Christmas celebration two years ago, Valerie requested Elena to assist with the cleanup.
“They got along immediately. Then they fell in love. But when Elena learned about the kid and his illness, George had nothing to do with her.”
Valerie stated that George was willing to marry Elena out of love, but when he discovered the kid had Down syndrome, he viewed them as a burden.
“He promised Elena he would battle for her with his family and convince them she was more than a maid. But something changed.”
We proceeded into the living room, where the family was lazing around—George was nowhere to be found. I told his parents about the letters and the photograph-filled attic.
Valerie informed them about Elena and her baby.
When we finished, George entered the living room, his expression indicating that he had overheard the talk.
“Is this true?” his father asked, his eyes fixated on my husband.
George had no words, and his silence was a damning admission.
The familial fallout was swift. George was cut off, and his inheritance was moved to support Elena and her unborn child.
And me?
I was given a divorce, and George did not even bother to fight it; he was devastated by the loss of his money. My in-laws offered me a fresh start with funds intended for George.
I sold off some of them, assuring that the true victory was the foundation I laid for Elena’s child. A foundation for children with impairments. Valerie now manages it with help from myself and George’s mother, who disowned her son as soon as she learned about the baby.
