When my husband and I got intimate, he always liked to blindfold me with a red cloth, saying it added more excitement. Before long, I found out I was pregnant. Mrs. Thompson was overjoyed and treated me like a treasure, waiting on me hand and foot. Then, one day, I overheard Mrs. Thompson’s unsettling laugh: “Didn’t you know? The thirty grand we spent on the wedding was just to secure the baby in her belly!” Emanuel and I had been married for two months, and life as newlyweds was incredibly sweet. Everyone said I was lucky. The Thompson family wasn’t particularly wealthy, yet they managed to scrape together thirty thousand dollars for the wedding, plus they put a small house in a small town in Ohio in my name. Even the usual tension between a wife and her mother-in-law seemed nonexistent for me. Mrs. Thompson, who came from a rural background, had worked hard all her life, raising Emanuel and taking care of his mentally disabled younger brother after her husband passed away. I had promised Emanuel that we’d always keep two rooms available in our future home for his mother and his brother Danny to stay in if needed. Now that we’d bought a four-bedroom house in a small town, we invited her to come live with us. Mrs. Thompson was a bit hesitant. She secretly told Emanuel, “Son, once Sarah has the baby and I finish helping her through the postpartum recovery, I’ll head back to the countryside so I don’t intrude on your life together.” I was touched by how considerate she was. Even Danny, who was a little slow, was always sweet to me, often grinning and calling me “sis.” Emanuel had always wanted a baby. After dinner, he would pounce on me like a hungry wolf. “Let’s burn some energy tonight, babe. Maybe we can get Mom that healthy baby boy she’s been dreaming of,” he’d say with a grin, as his hands reached for my clothes. But right as things were getting intense, and I was starting to struggle to catch my breath, Emanuel suddenly stopped. “What’s wrong, honey?” I asked breathlessly, my eyes half-closed. He smirked mysteriously, reached into the nightstand, and pulled out that familiar red blindfold. He gently covered my eyes, saying it would make things more exciting. Embarrassed but intrigued, I agreed. That night, I could tell he was more eager than usual, and I teased him, “Careful with your back, honey.” But he didn’t respond. The entire time, he didn’t say a word. Before we were married, he’d always liked to talk to build the mood, but now, he was silent—like an ox silently plowing a field. Eventually, I tried to take off the blindfold, but he gently held my hand down. I was exhausted and let it go, falling into a deep sleep. Later that night, half-asleep, I felt his hand on my stomach again. It made me suspicious. Hadn’t he lost interest in this kind of thing after we got married? Why was he suddenly so eager again? “Babe, let me feel your belly,” he said with a grin. I sighed, letting him run his rough hands over my stomach. “Go to sleep. We both have work tomorrow,” I mumbled, closing my eyes. “Nah, babe. I’m not done yet,” he whispered, and we rolled around again under the sheets. For over two weeks, this became a nightly routine. Every night, he would blindfold me with that red cloth, and every morning, I’d wake up with dark circles under my eyes, yawning at breakfast. Mrs. Thompson would beam and bring me breakfast—eggs and toast, quail with sea pearls, and my prenatal vitamins—without fail. “Mom, there’s no need to go all out every morning,” I told her, a little embarrassed. Mrs. Thompson smiled and said, “You and Emanuel are trying for a baby, right? You never know; you might already be eating for two!” After breakfast, she handed me a pile of pregnancy tests, urging me to take one. Blushing, I went to the bathroom and took the test. To my surprise, just two months after the wedding, we were expecting! “You’re really pregnant? Our Thompson family has an heir!” Mrs. Thompson was over the moon, hugging me excitedly. But when Emanuel came home from work and I told him, his reaction wasn’t as joyful. Instead, it seemed like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He nodded, relieved. “Good. Now Dad can rest easy in his grave. This child is the only hope for carrying on the Thompson name.” Meanwhile, Danny, who was a bit slow, was ecstatic. He let out a whistle and happily handed over all his pocket money. “Sis, here! Buy some candy for the baby!” Even though I found the brothers’ reactions odd, I was too wrapped up in the joy of becoming a mother to give it much thought. “We’ll head back to Grandma’s house soon, and you’ll finally meet my other daughter-in-law,” Mrs. Thompson said. I was stunned. Danny had a wife?
Mrs. Thompson explained that a couple of years ago, she had arranged for Danny to marry a woman with a disability. She was paralyzed and had been rejected by her family, so Mrs. Thompson brought her into their home. “She helps out on the farm now, feeding the animals and looking after the place. That’s why I didn’t bring her to town with us.” Mrs. Thompson spoke of Emily, Danny’s wife, with such indifference that it was as if she were talking about a stray animal, not a person. My curiosity grew. This was the first time since getting married that I was going to Emanuel’s childhood home. It was on a piece of farmland with a decent two-story house, but the place felt empty and desolate. A small girl, about five or six years old, was in the yard, drawing water. She worked quickly, moving with an efficiency that surprised me. “That’s Danny’s daughter, Jenny. Jenny, say hi to your aunt,” Mrs. Thompson instructed. The little girl politely called me “Auntie” and then went back to her work, boiling water for us. Danny’s daughter? She’s this old already? I was stunned. Emanuel had told me that Danny was two years younger than him, which would make him 23, yet he already had a child this big? When Danny saw his daughter, he wasn’t as affectionate as I expected. In fact, he seemed distant. He just stuck out his foot and said, “Jenny, take off my shoes!” Perplexed, I pulled Emanuel aside and asked, “Shouldn’t she be in school?” He shrugged. “Jenny takes after her dad. She’s a bit slow, so she’s staying home.” I nodded, feeling sorry for the little girl. Inside, I met Emily, who was indeed in a wheelchair, feeding the pigs. When she saw me, she looked me up and down with a bitter smile. “Well, look at you. Big hips, big breasts. No wonder Mrs. Thompson loves you so much,” she said, jealousy clear in her voice. I frowned. I’d never been one for crude talk, and I certainly wasn’t used to this kind of sharpness from a sister-in-law. But before I could react, Mrs. Thompson slapped Emily across the face. “How dare you speak to your sister-in-law like that? You worthless woman who can’t even give us a son! Now get back to your chores. And don’t come to the table until you’re done feeding the animals!” Danny, who was big and burly, didn’t defend his wife. Instead, he gave her a hard kick in the chest. “How dare you talk to my sister-in-law like that? She’s carrying the future of this family!” Emily just shrugged, seemingly used to this treatment, and wheeled herself away. I was shocked. Mrs. Thompson, who had always treated me kindly, was ruthless to Emily. The contrast was terrifying. Sensing my discomfort, Emanuel quickly put his arm around me and said, “Emily has a bad temper. She doesn’t work, and she spends money recklessly. Don’t worry about it.” But as I looked around at the bare walls and the dirt on Emily’s clothes, I couldn’t connect her to the idea of wasting money. Mrs. Thompson must have noticed my fear. She forced a smile and said, “Sarah, I’m sorry you had to see that. Let’s get cleaned up for dinner. Emily and I will take care of the cooking.” Before the wedding, I had thought this family was generous, and I was smitten with how good Emanuel had always been to me. But now, I realized the seemingly kind Mrs. Thompson and simple Danny were not at all what they appeared to be. As night fell, Emanuel and I settled into the largest room in the house, right next to Danny and Emily’s bedroom. The old farmhouse didn’t have good insulation, so I could hear their muffled whispers through the walls. “Honey, kiss me, I miss you so much,” Danny said, his voice thick with affection. “Get off me! Isn’t the Thompson family busy now with someone else carrying on your bloodline? Leave me alone,” Emily snapped back angrily. Emanuel had explained to me that when Emily gave birth to Jenny, she had suffered severe complications, leaving her unable to have more children. “That’s why she’s so bitter now,” he said. “Mom doesn’t like her either, but you’ve got to understand where she’s coming from.” I knew all too well that in these rural areas, families without grandsons were considered “doomed,” and it was a constant source of shame in the community. It was clear the entire Thompson family was pinning their hopes on me to change that. “You know you’re the golden ticket now,” Emanuel teased, rubbing my belly gently. “Everyone’s counting on you to give us that healthy baby boy.” But as I listened to Emily’s harsh tone and watched Emanuel’s hand on my stomach, a chill ran through me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was deeply off with this family. I realized I was sinking further into a situation I barely understood, and the more I thought about it, the more unnerved I became.
During our time in the countryside, Mrs. Thompson made it a point to kill a chicken every day, cooking chicken soup just for me. She never allowed Emily to join us at the table. Every time I saw Emily hiding in a corner, staring hungrily at the steaming chicken on my plate, I felt uncomfortable. One day, I suggested to Mrs. Thompson, “Mom, maybe Emily should eat with us too.” Mrs. Thompson just scoffed. “Around here, women who haven’t given birth to a son don’t get to sit at the table. You city folk wouldn’t understand.” I wanted to argue, to push back against this ridiculous tradition, but Mrs. Thompson had treated me well so far, so I held my tongue. After dinner, I discreetly saved a chicken leg and brought it to Emily while she was washing the dishes in the kitchen. “Here, Emily. I noticed you didn’t eat much at lunch. You should have this; you’re not in great health.” But to my surprise, she slapped it out of my hand. The chicken leg hit the ground and rolled in the dust. She let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t need your pity. Eat it yourself. You’ll need your strength to give them a healthy baby boy. Once you do, you’ll have served your purpose—just like I did—and they’ll toss you aside like a rag.” I knew she was trying to hurt me, implying that Mrs. Thompson’s kindness was only because I was pregnant. Still, her words stung. I wasn’t like her—I had a job, and after my maternity leave, I could go back to work. I wasn’t entirely dependent on this family. Just then, Mrs. Thompson stormed into the kitchen, having heard the commotion. She looked down at the fallen chicken leg and clutched her chest in mock horror. “Oh no! There goes one of our free-range chickens! What a waste!” she cried, pretending to mourn. I quickly jumped in, “I’m sorry, Mom. It was my fault, not Emily’s.” But Mrs. Thompson wasn’t listening. She grabbed Emily by the ear and yanked her up, her voice filled with fury. “You useless woman! Wasting food again? You don’t make any money, and all you do is squander what little we have. What good are you?” Emily’s screams filled the house as I fled outside, too shaken to intervene. I barely noticed Danny, who had just returned, drunk from a wake. He staggered toward me, his eyes glassy. “Sis, let’s head to the cornfield, huh? Let me feel my little nephew in your belly,” he slurred, reaching for me with his grubby hands. I swatted him away, heart pounding, and ran back into the house. Something was definitely wrong with this family—something darker than I could have imagined. That night, I overheard another argument between Mrs. Thompson and Emily. I crept downstairs, eavesdropping behind the wall. Emily was sobbing, sitting on the floor as Mrs. Thompson stood over her, dragging her up by the ears only to toss her back down like a sack of potatoes. Emily cried out, “Why are you treating me like this? You’re so nice to her, but how do you know she’ll give you the baby? You spent thirty thousand dollars on their wedding, but you gave me nothing when you married me off to Danny!” Mrs. Thompson laughed, her voice low and sinister, “You really don’t know, do you? That thirty thousand wasn’t for the wedding—it was to guarantee the baby in Sarah’s belly!” The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I froze, my hands shaking. What did she mean by that? The money was to “guarantee” my baby? Panic surged through me, and without thinking, I stormed into the room, demanding answers. “Mom, what did you mean by that? What does ‘guarantee’ my baby even mean?” Mrs. Thompson’s face paled, and she rushed to soothe me. “Oh, Sarah, sweetheart, it’s not what you think! By ‘guarantee,’ I just meant the baby will carry the Thompson name. I know you city girls might not want the baby to take the father’s name.” “Please, calm down. Stress is bad for the baby,” she added, her eyes fixated on my stomach like it was a treasure chest full of gold. But I couldn’t take her sweet-talking anymore. I made a silent vow that I would get to the bottom of whatever twisted game she was playing.
Figuring out Mrs. Thompson’s scheming wasn’t going to be easy. Ever since I caught her conversation with Emily, she’d become even more secretive, her actions more guarded. She even sent Emily and Jenny to live in a separate old house in the countryside, only letting them come by occasionally to help with the farm. She didn’t want them around us. Thankfully, Emanuel still treated me kindly, always gentle and attentive. One day, he brought me a few brochures and asked, “Sarah, you’re getting close to your due date. What do you think about picking a nice postpartum recovery center?” I glanced at the brochures, some of them offering high-end care costing thousands per month. I felt a warmth in my heart. “Sure, that sounds great. Let’s go to one of those centers, so Mom won’t have to do all the work,” I said, subtly hinting that I wasn’t too keen on having Mrs. Thompson in the house all the time. But every time I tried to bring up that conversation I overheard, Emanuel brushed it off with vague excuses. It left a shadow of doubt in my mind. One evening, as my due date approached, I went with Emanuel to visit his old family home again. We ended up staying the night there, under the same roof as Danny and Emily. Emanuel fell asleep early, but my pregnancy made it hard for me to sleep. As I lay there, the thin walls of the house didn’t do much to block out the sounds from the other room. I could hear the muffled sounds of Danny and Emily whispering in bed. “Danny, you’re disgusting! You’re saggy and wrinkled, you’re no better than an old rag!” Emily snapped at him. “You’re nothing compared to Sarah,” Danny shot back smugly. “What, like you’ve seen her?” Emily growled, incredulous. “Of course I have!” Danny responded, a proud tone in his voice. A cold shiver ran down my spine. His words, that smug tone—they left me feeling like I had just fallen into an icy lake. The sinking feeling in my gut was undeniable. And then it hit me. I thought back to the nights when Emanuel would blindfold me, saying it was for excitement. I remembered the way his sweat smelled different on those nights. Could it be? Could it be that the person lying on top of me back then wasn’t Emanuel at all—but Danny?
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