In the middle of the night, I opened my eyes and realized my husband wasn’t by my side. I stepped out of the bedroom and searched the house, but there was no sign of him. As I neared the nanny’s room, I heard my husband’s voice inside. My name is Lauren Murphy, I’m 28 years old, and my husband, Eric Murphy, and I both work at St. Luke’s Medical Center, Chicago. I’m the head nurse, and Eric is the senior consultant and professor. We’ve been married for over four years, and our relationship is still great. He’s gentle, polite, and incredibly good-looking, plus he treats me with such care. No matter how busy we are, every year on Valentine’s Day or our anniversary, he never fails to send a bouquet of flowers to my station at the hospital. My coworkers always gather around to tease me, saying how lucky I am to have married such a perfect husband. I basked in their admiration, feeling like I was living in a sweet, blissful bubble. The only thing missing from our otherwise perfect marriage was a child. After a miscarriage early in our marriage, I hadn’t gotten pregnant again. I knew Eric really wanted a baby, too. When I was pregnant, he searched everywhere for prenatal vitamins and even hired a young nanny to help take care of me. I always felt guilty about the miscarriage, but Eric comforted me, saying it was okay. He even helped me take both herbal and prescription medications to help me recover. Unfortunately, after taking those medicines, my body started to change. I began to gain weight, and stretch marks spread across my skin, but I trusted Eric completely. I thought if it meant we could have a baby, it would all be worth it. Five years ago, Eric was a graduate student working under my father, Dr. Howard Preston, who is the hospital’s chief physician. That was during my final year at nursing school, and my father arranged for me to intern at his hospital. The first time I saw Eric, I was immediately drawn to him. Not only was he handsome, but his manners were impeccable, and he carried himself with a quiet, sophisticated charm. I learned from my father that Eric came from a modest background—he grew up in a small town, and he was the only one from his village to go to college. Instead of feeling superior, I admired him even more. His humble, refined demeanor only made me appreciate him further. To me, he was like a lone flower blooming in a harsh winter landscape. I was too shy to ask for his number, even though I was attracted to him. All I could do was make excuses to visit my father’s department, hoping to steal a few glances at Eric. To my surprise, Eric was the one who asked for my number, and after that, he started inviting me out to dinner, the movies, and shopping trips. Our relationship deepened with each date, and eventually, Eric confessed his feelings for me. I accepted, overwhelmed with happiness, thinking I was the luckiest woman in the world. But now, everything has crumbled. The “perfect gentleman” I thought I knew? It was all a damn act.
It wasn’t long after Eric and I started dating that I got pregnant, and he quickly proposed. My father wasn’t thrilled about the premarital pregnancy, but since I was already expecting, he didn’t want any gossip about the family. Plus, he thought Eric was a dependable guy, so he didn’t object. Our wedding was planned and executed in under a month. I entered marriage full of joy, ready to welcome our new baby. But during my first ultrasound after the wedding, I was told that the pregnancy was unstable, and I was at risk of miscarriage. Terrified of losing our baby, I immediately decided to stop working and rest at home. Eric was just as worried as I was, frantically searching for all sorts of prenatal supplements for me. His care and concern helped calm my anxious heart, and I felt safe knowing we both wanted this baby so much. Eric even hired a live-in nanny, Tara Bennett, a shy, 18-year-old girl from a small town. When she first came to our house, she wore simple clothes and two long braids, barely speaking a word unless spoken to. When I called her name, she’d look up with wide, innocent eyes, making her seem sweet and endearing. Eric explained that Tara was from a neighboring town back where he grew up and had just moved to the city to find work. He said he felt a connection with her when he saw her at Midwest Domestic Services and decided to hire her. I had no reason to doubt him, and Tara seemed like a good fit, so I welcomed her into our home. Despite all our efforts, though, I lost the baby. After the miscarriage, my emotional and physical health took a dive, and I stayed home to recover for a long time. Eric was busy with work, and I spent most of my days with Tara. She was quiet but diligent, and she quickly proved herself to be an excellent caregiver. She cooked meals that Eric loved, and no matter how hectic his schedule was, he always made time to come home for dinner. I grew more and more fond of her, and even after I returned to work, I kept Tara on as our nanny. Tara has now been with us for nearly five years, and we’ve given her regular raises. Over time, she’s become much more outgoing and cheerful. As Tara adapted to city life, she began dressing more fashionably, wearing makeup, and following the latest trends. She had transformed from the simple country girl we first met into a beautiful young woman. Meanwhile, after the miscarriage, my body had changed. I no longer liked what I saw in the mirror. Every time I looked at Tara, who was becoming more attractive, I felt a twinge of discomfort. Lately, I’ve noticed Tara becoming more casual and indifferent toward me. When I speak to her, she sometimes acts like she doesn’t hear me. If Eric isn’t home for dinner, the meals she prepares for me are sparse and bland. When Tara first came to the city, she had almost no clothes of her own. After the miscarriage, when my body had changed and I couldn’t fit into some of my designer outfits, I gave her a couple of nice pieces out of pity. But since then, I’ve noticed my wardrobe being disturbed, and some clothes have mysteriously disappeared. What bothered me even more was how differently Tara treated Eric compared to me. I hinted to Tara a few times that she should be more respectful, but she pretended not to understand, brushing off my comments. I even mentioned to Eric that we should let Tara go—that she was becoming careless and disrespectful, and that we didn’t really need a nanny anymore. But Eric dismissed my concerns. “Lauren, you’re overthinking this. Tara’s doing a great job! You’re always misplacing your things—don’t blame the poor girl. And where would she go if we fired her? She’s all alone in the city.” I didn’t want Eric to think I was just a petty, jealous wife, so I dropped the subject.
Recently, there’s been another outbreak of Covid-19 in a neighboring state, and the government was caught off guard by the surge. Medical staff and resources were stretched thin. I was deployed to help on the Illinois Covid-19 Task Force, while Eric stayed behind due to his surgery schedule. The work was grueling, but every night, I received sweet messages from Eric asking when I’d be back. He’d always say goodnight in such a loving way, warming my heart. For years, Eric had been the one to surprise me. This time, I decided to turn the tables and give him a surprise by coming home earlier than planned. I deliberately told him I’d be back a few days later, and I made sure to return on one of his days off. On my way home, I was giddy, feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush. But an hour later, as I walked into our house, I found myself laughing bitterly at my own foolishness. The house was eerily quiet. Had Eric been called in for an emergency shift? Tara wasn’t home either. The curtains were drawn tight, blocking out the bright sunlight outside. The air felt stale, with a strange scent lingering. I turned on a small light and glanced around. Everything seemed normal. I went upstairs, checking the second and third floors, but there was no sign of anyone. Back downstairs, I pulled open the curtains. The sudden brightness made me squint for a moment, but I quickly adjusted. I opened the windows to let in some fresh air and sat down on the couch to rest after the long trip. As soon as I sat, my hand touched something damp on the sofa. I frowned, a growing sense of unease creeping over me. Was it Tara? Or Eric? Or both? Once the seed of doubt was planted, it spread like wildfire. I’m not sure what I was thinking as I cleaned up the mess, but as soon as I was done, a wave of disgust washed over me. I scrubbed my hands repeatedly, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of revulsion. I went to the bathroom and scrubbed again, trying to rid myself of the sensation. Afterward, I sat in the living room, lost in thought. Oddly, I felt a strange calm. It was as if everything was falling into place. Memories of Tara’s increasing disrespect and Eric’s constant defense of her began to piece together, forming a clear picture. What I had dismissed as my own insecurities suddenly seemed much more plausible. The room darkened as the evening set in, and the only light left was the faint glow of the entryway. Finally, I heard the sound of the door’s keypad beeping. It was as if the noise confirmed everything I’d been thinking. Eric and Tara walked in together, laughing. “Tara, did you forget to turn off the light by the door?” Eric said, flipping on the living room lights. The sudden brightness exposed everything—every ugly truth. They froze, their smiles still plastered awkwardly on their faces when they saw me. “Lauren! You’re back early! I thought you were coming home later,” Eric said, quickly regaining his composure. No wonder he kept texting me, asking when I’d be home. He was trying to buy himself time. I forced a smile and replied, “I thought I’d surprise you. I came home early and waited for you.” Eric noticed me glancing between him and Tara and nonchalantly explained, “There was an emergency surgery at the hospital, so I stayed late. I ran into Tara on the way back—she was out shopping, so I gave her a ride home.” I used to believe every word he said. But now, I wondered—had they really just bumped into each other while out grocery shopping? Or had they been out, enjoying time together while I was away? Still, I kept my expression neutral and said, “Why are you explaining all this to me? Oh, Tara, I bought a rotisserie chicken earlier. Could you heat it up for dinner?” Eric seemed to take my lack of reaction as a good sign, as if I were the naïve, easily fooled wife he had always relied on.
Later that night, as usual, Eric brought me a cup of herbal supplements he’d carefully prepared for my health. I stared at the murky liquid, thinking how I used to drink it without question, despite the bitterness. “Leave it here for a bit. I’ll drink it before bed after I read,” I told him. Eric didn’t suspect a thing. “Okay, just make sure to drink it while it’s warm. I know it’s bitter, but it’s for our baby,” he said, kissing my forehead before heading off to his office to work. I held back the urge to push him away, forcing a smile instead. Once Eric left, I poured some of the concoction into a small container and flushed the rest down the toilet, leaving the cup on the nightstand as if nothing had happened. I climbed back into bed, pretending to be asleep when Eric returned. He gently shook my shoulder, checking if I was truly asleep. I remained still. Satisfied, he turned off the bedside light and lay down beside me. I didn’t close my eyes. I was wide awake. Less than thirty minutes later, Eric slipped out of bed.
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