Chapter 7: The Truth About Nick
I read the letter slowly.
Not because I wanted to.
Because my brain couldn’t process the words.
The handwriting was Martha’s.
Every sentence felt deliberate.
Every word felt calculated.
*Emily, if you are reading this, Nick has already chosen you over me.*
I continued.
*You probably think I hate you. You are wrong. Hate would mean I don’t care.*
I looked up.
Martha was watching me.
Waiting.
I kept reading.
*I know you think I’m controlling. Maybe I am. But you don’t know what I lost to give Nick the life he has.*
For a moment, I almost felt sympathy.
Almost.
Then I remembered the scissors.
The braid.
The humiliation.
I kept going.
**His father left when he was six. I raised him alone. I worked two jobs.
I missed birthdays. I missed holidays. Everything I did was for him.**
My eyes moved down the page.
*Then you came along.*
There was a pause in the letter.
A space where she had pressed the pen harder.
*And suddenly, I was no longer the most important person in his life.*
I lowered the paper.
That was the truth.
Not tradition.
Not family values.
Not protection.
Fear.
Martha was terrified of becoming unnecessary.
But fear didn’t excuse cruelty.
Nick took a step toward me.
“What does it say?””
I handed him the letter.
He read.
His face changed.
Not anger.
Sadness.
Deep sadness.
“She wrote this before the wedding?””
I nodded.
Martha looked away.
“I wanted her to understand.””
“Understand what?”” Nick asked.
“That marriage changes everything.””
Nick shook his head.
“No. Marriage doesn’t erase my relationship with you.””
“But it should have.””
Everyone looked at her.
She didn’t seem to realize she had said it aloud.
“What?””
Martha’s expression hardened.
“A wife becomes the center of a man’s life.””
“Yes.””
Nick nodded.
“That’s normal.””
“But a mother shouldn’t become nothing.””
Nobody answered.
Because buried beneath all the damage was something real.
Martha was hurt.
She was lonely.
She was afraid.
But instead of admitting that, she turned her pain into a weapon.
I folded the letter.
“Martha.””
She looked at me.
“I understand that you sacrificed for Nick.””
Her eyes softened slightly.
“But you don’t get to collect your sacrifice as a debt.””
The room went silent.
Nick looked at me.
Like he had never heard me speak that way before.
Martha’s face changed.
“You think you’re better than me?””
“No.””
I shook my head.
“I think you’re hurting people because you’re afraid.””
Her expression became cold.
“You don’t know anything about me.””
“You’re right.””
I looked at the scissors still sitting on the table.
“But I know what you did.””
For once, Martha had no answer.
The next morning, I woke up in a hotel room.
Not our honeymoon suite.
Not the house Nick and I had planned to move into.
A hotel.
Because after everything that happened, I couldn’t sleep beside him.
Not yet.
My wedding dress was hanging near the window.
The bottom was stained.
My hair was uneven.
The woman staring back at me in the mirror looked like someone I barely recognized.
My phone buzzed.
Nick.
I stared at his name.
Then answered.
“Hello?””
His voice was quiet.
“Did you sleep?””
“No.””
A pause.
“Me neither.””
I sat down.
“What happened after I left?””
He exhaled.
“Mom left.””
“Where?””
“I don’t know.””
That worried me.
Not because I cared where Martha was.
Because I knew her.
People like Martha didn’t walk away when they lost control.
They changed tactics.
“Nick.””
“Yeah?””
“I need honesty.””
“You have it.””
“Why didn’t you tell me how bad things were with your mother?””
Silence.
Then:
“Because I was ashamed.””
I frowned.
“Of what?””
“That I let it happen.””
The honesty hurt.
But it mattered.
“I spent years telling myself I was protecting you by avoiding conflict.””
His voice cracked.
“But I was protecting myself.””
I looked down.
“From what?””
“From admitting that my mother and I weren’t healthy.””
I closed my eyes.
Because that was the first time Nick had said it.
Not “she’s difficult.””
Not “she means well.””
Not “that’s just how she is.””
Healthy.
The word mattered.
Then he said:
“There’s something else.””
My stomach tightened.
“What?””
“I found out where she went.””
“Where?””
He hesitated.
“My childhood home.””
The old house.
The one Martha kept after Nick moved out.
The place she always called “our home.””
“Why would she go there?””
“I don’t know.””
Then I heard something in his voice.
Fear.
“What is it?””
“She took something.””
“What?””
“My father’s old files.””
I frowned.
“Why?””
Another silence.
May you like
Then Nick said:
“Because my mother believes there is something in those files that can destroy our marriage.””
