During the wedding night, I was exhausted after a long day of entertaining guests, therefore I retreated to my room, hoping to hug my husband and sleep soundly. Yet, as soon as I finished removing my makeup, the door opened:

“Mom is too drunk, let her lie down for a bit, it’s too noisy downstairs.”

My mother-in-law, who a controlling, notoriously strict woman, staggered in, hugging a pillow, her breath reeking of alcohol, her shirt low-cut, her face red.

While I was about to help her to the living room, my husband stopped me:

“Let Mom lie here, it’s only one night. One night. The wedding night.”

I bitterly carried the pillow down to the sofa, not daring to react because of my fear of being branded “a new wife already rude”.

I tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep. It was almost morning when I finally fell asleep.

As I woke up, it was almost 6 o’clock. I went upstairs, intending to wake my husband up and go down to greet my maternal relatives.

I gently pushed the door open… and stood frozen.

My husband was lying with his back facing out. My mother-in-law was lying very close to him, on the same bed I had given up.

I approached, intending to wake him up. But as my eyes swept over the bedsheet, I suddenly stopped.

On the pure white sheet… there was a reddish-brown stain, lightly smeared like dried bl:ood.

I touched it — dry but still damp at the edge. And the smell… wasn’t the smell of alcohol.

I was stunned. My whole body was cold.

“Are you awake?” – my mother-in-law jumped up, surprisingly fast, pulled the blanket to cover the wound, her smile bright and suspiciously alert – “Last night, I was so tired, I slept soundly!”

I looked at my husband. He was still pretending to sleep, his breathing was unusual.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t turn to me.

I didn’t know what had just happened on my bed on my first night as a wife, but… it wasn’t normal. Not at all.

That night, I sneaked into the laundry room. I found the old bedsheets.

In the laundry bag, I found a pair of red lace panties — not mine, couldn’t be mine.

And from that moment, the marriage that had just begun… was officially broken.

My name is Claire Miller, 26 years old, just married to Ethan Miller, a young, gentle, calm doctor and the only person who makes me believe that true happiness exists.

The wedding was held on the California coast, everything was perfect down to the last detail.

However the wedding night – the night that was supposed to be the beginning of eternal love – turned into the first nightmare of my life.

Just as I finished removing my makeup and was about to rest with my husband, Ethan’s mother, Margaret, suddenly opened the door and walked in.

She was staggering, smelling of alcohol, but her eyes were completely clear.

“Claire, downstairs is too noisy,” she said, her voice sweet but cold.

“Let me rest here tonight. Just for a while.”

I looked at Ethan awkwardly. He hesitated for a moment and then whispered:

“Mom is just a little drunk. Let her stay for a while, honey.”

I didn’t want to cause trouble on my first night as a bride.

I nodded, taking the pillows to the sofa downstairs.

But as I left, I caught a glimpse of Margaret’s gaze on her son—not the look of a drunken mother, but something else: possessiveness, and fear of losing control.

The next morning, I returned to the room to call Ethan down for breakfast.

The door was only ajar.

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