For quite some time, I had a gnawing suspicion that my wife was being unfaithful. There were just too many late meetings at work, too many mysterious trips to pick up supplies, and far too many unfamiliar scents that she always seemed to brush off. I kept quiet and watched, my patience held together by a thread, until finally, I decided to hire a private investigator who promised answers within a few days. Then, this morning, I got a message: a brief address, with no explanation at all. Go there immediately. Its urgent. You need to see for yourself.
It took me nearly an hour to drive out there, leaving the city behind until the roads shrank into little more than a muddy track. My heart was thumping so loudly I was sure anyone nearby could hear it.
The narrow lane wound deeper into the woods, and with every passing mile, my confidence dwindled. Id pictured discovering the home of my wifes lover, or perhaps spotting her car outside some obscure country cottage.
But all I found was a derelict old brick building nestled amid the trees, and in that moment, a flood of unease and strange, almost physical dread washed over me. The place looked like a long-abandoned barn or storage shed. No cars. No people.
Clutching my phone, ready to ring the detective or even the police at a moments notice, I stepped out and moved closer. The doors hung slightly open, as if someone had hurried through just before my arrival.
But what I found inside was nothing I could have dreamt up no clandestine meetings, no signs of betrayal like Id assumed.
I edged nearer and pushed one of the doors, which groaned on its hinges with a low, warning squeal. Inside, the air was damp, thick with the tang of rust. Rubbish littered the ground, but in a far corner, a section of wooden panel looked strangely even. I walked over, ran my hand along the edge, and the panel slid aside quietly.
Behind it was a narrow little room. And there, on a filthy mattress, sat a woman. She was alive, but so frail and pale, shackled by a heavy chain.
I froze on the spot, half-convinced I was dreaming. The woman raised her head slowly, as if every movement pained her.
You youre the wife? she croaked. You shouldnt have come. He said youd never find out.
Who? I choked, my voice little more than a whisper.
She looked away.
Your husband. Hes kept me here for seven months. He said he was looking for a replacement.
Only then did I notice the tray on the floor a bowl of soup, still warm. Someone had been here not long before me.
Suddenly, footsteps thundered from behind. The detective mustve called the police. Help had finally arrived.
