Page 69 of Coerced Wife

I’m glad this fucking night is over.

At last, I can do what I want to do most, which is to go home to my pregnant fiancée.

Fiancée.

I say the word out loud as I walk to my car, getting a feel for it on my tongue, and it’s just about the most satisfying sound I’ve uttered or heard.

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

Anya

Ababy’s cry carries on the night, reaching my ears with the breeze that blows through the bedroom window. I rub my eyes and focus to clear the cobwebs of sleep from my mind.

Goosebumps prickle over my arms while I shiver in my satin nightdress. The bedcovers are tangled around my feet. Nothing but a thin sheet covers me.

It’s cold.

The moon shines like a beacon in the sky, illuminating the room and creating shadows in the corners.

Who opened the window?

I reach for Saverio next to me, but my palm brushes over the cool cotton of a pillowcase. Pushing up on one elbow, I frown as I look down. The pillow is fluffy and uncreased. Unused. Hisplace is empty.

I sit up, my skin contracting from the bite of frost in the air.

“Saverio?”

The baby cries again, the sound coming from the nursery.

I turn my face toward the door. It’s ajar, a wedge of soft lamplight spilling through the crack. A mobile plays softly in the background, the tune familiar but the notes like music from a fairground.

I swing my legs over the bed and stand.

The crying turns louder.

“Mommy’s coming, sweetheart.”

I grab a robe from the chair and pull it on as I rush on bare feet to the far side of the room. The curtains billow in the gust of icy wind that barrels through the windows. I push them closed and hook the latch in place before hurrying to the nursery while tying the belt of the robe around my waist.

The cries become quieter, turning into unhappy sniffling. I enter the nursery with the yellow walls and the colorful stuffed animals on the bookshelves. Shadows from the rotating dolphin nightlight creep along the walls. The curtains are open, letting in a shard of moonlight that pierces the crib. The baby is quiet now, but the merry-go-round notes of the mobile are distorted and plays out of tune.

“Mommy’s here, darling,” I coo, reaching for the baby, but when I pull back the soft, white blanket, the crib is empty.

A piercing scream fills my ears. I slam my palms over them to block out the noise, but the horrifying sound that’s sharper than glass comes from inside me.

“My baby,” I yell.

I scream and scream until my voice goes hoarse and it feels as if my lungs are tearing inside my chest.

I jackknife into a sitting position. Cold sweat runs down my back while tremors rack my body.

Bewildered, I look around.

I’m in bed. I check my phone. It’s two in the morning. The place next to me is empty.

Looking at the window, I blink. The curtains are drawn. It’s warm in the room.

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