part1 of 2
I married a rich man to save my family, but on our wedding night, I didn’t get what was coming to me. He simply sat in the darkness and said:
“Go to sleep. I want to watch.” The way he said it made my hair stand on end… and the next morning, I understood that this marriage was all about money.
—Nothing’s going to happen tonight. Go to sleep.
My name is Nora Hale .
That night, I sat huddled on the edge of the bed wearing a pony dress that looked like armor, trembling so hard that my teeth were chattering.
I looked at the door as if it were a septexia about to be executed.
When it opened, he entered slowly, his gaze distant and distant, and the chair in his hand chilled my blood. He brought it closer, sat down, and watched me without blinking.
—I won’t. I just want to see you sleep.
I didn’t understand what that meant. Was he sick? Was he dangerous? Was it some kind of control?
But I was exhausted, and in the morning I still had to look “normal” in front of my father. I went to bed without even taking off my dress.
When I woke up, he was already gone.
The second night, the third night, everything repeated itself. The chair. The silence. The gaze. The family moved as if they had made a pact: heads down, mouths closed, no explanations.
By the fourth night, something had left me petrified. I was asleep when I felt someone beside me. Heavy breathing near my ear.
I woke with a start, and there he was, so close I could smell his old cologne. He still hadn’t touched me. He was mesmerized, his gaze fixed on my eyelids as if he were cutting off my breath.
He shuddered as if he had been caught committing a crime and immediately stepped back.
I sat down and the room was suddenly colder.
He lower
n’t lie. It’s just that… tonight was different.
During the day, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I asked what scared me:
He stayed right by the window. Outside, the trees swayed in the wind.
My throat felt like it was going to cry.
SŅ respŅesta coпteпía más miedo que υe certeza.
That night I pretended to sleep, with my eyes closed and my mind awake. He brought the chair. He sat on the floor, next to the bed, as if he were on guard.
A long silence.
Then he admitted: “Yes.”
“Whose?”
He didn’t look at me.
—Not about you —he said—. About your past.
Little by little, the truth began to come to light. He told me that his first wife had died in her sleep.
The doctors said it was heart failure. But he believed something else had happened.
“She would wake up at night,” he said, “with her eyes open, but not really there… as if someone else was driving her.”
I got goosebumps.
Then he confessed the worst part.
He had fallen asleep once. And when he woke up…
It was already too late.
After that, he turned the house into a fortress: closed closets, bells on the doors, latches on the windows. I felt as if I were living in a prison built out of fear.
I asked in a low voice, “Do you think I could…?”
He interrupted me immediately.
—No. But fear doesn’t require logic.
Then came the first real shock.
