The Wind That Knows My Heart

The room was filled with a comforting warmth as Harry held me close, his voice soothing, his presence steady. Yet beneath the rich aroma of roses lingering in the air, I caught a whiff of something foreign—perfume that wasn’t mine. My stomach churned, unease creeping in. When I glanced up at him, my gaze landed on the faint hickey peeking out from the nape of his neck. The sight sent a jolt through me, clearing the haze his charm had cast. The world slowed and every affectionate word he spoke turned hollow in my ears. “Hubby,” I murmured, stepping back. My voice wavered but carried resolve. “Can I stop taking the ovulation injections? It’s been so long and I’m tired. I… I want to give up.” His reaction was immediate. His dark eyes misted over and he reached for me, pulling me into his arms as though trying to shield me from my own words. “Dear,” he said, his voice filled with a tender ache, “you’ve worked so hard. But I really want a baby that belongs to us. Don’t you want to have a child for your husband?” His words wrapped around me like a net, suffocating yet impossible to escape. He reached for the syringe, his movements steady but almost too rehearsed. “It won’t hurt, I promise. Hubby will do it for you, okay?” I flinched, my heart pounding as I looked into his eyes. “Must I do this?” I whispered, desperate for a reprieve. His gaze softened, filled with what appeared to be love—a love so deep and sincere it was almost cruel. “Definitely. Be good, it’s just one more step toward our dream.” I nodded numbly, letting him press the needle into my swollen belly. The cold steel pierced my skin and pain surged through me like fire. My breath hitched as tears blurred my vision. It hurt. It hurt more than I could bear. But I said nothing. *** For years, Harry had treated me with the utmost care, as though I were a treasure he couldn’t afford to lose. He noticed every shift in my mood, every fleeting sadness and he always found ways to coax me back into happiness. Yet now, as I sat here enduring the agony of this injection, I couldn’t understand. Why did he pretend not to see my pain? Why force me to endure this when he knew I was breaking? I swallowed my questions, biting down on my lip as he rubbed my stomach gently, his hand warm against my skin. His gaze was filled with concern, the kind that could fool anyone. “I’m not going to work for the next few days,” he said softly. “I’ll stay home and take care of you until you feel better. Be good, okay? I’ll go make some soup.” *** As he turned to leave, I called out to him, my voice catching. “Harry… I went to the hotel today. Those roses were beautiful.” His steps faltered and he turned back, his expression guarded. “Oh? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? Did you see anyone?” “No.” A visible wave of relief washed over him, his shoulders relaxing as he forced a smile. “Next time, let me know in advance. I’ll have the staff line up to welcome you properly.” I watched him carefully, my heart sinking as his façade of composure slipped back into place. He tucked the blanket around me with practiced care before heading downstairs. The moment he was gone, I reached for my phone, dialing my mentor’s number with trembling hands. “Teacher,” I said, my voice low but resolute, “I want to apply for the research confidential program. And I need to cancel all my identity information.” There was a pause on the other end. “Are you sure, Clarissa? Once you make this decision, there’s no going back.” “I’m sure. I just… I need to disappear completely.” After finalizing the arrangements to leave in five days, I hung up and sank back into bed. A heavy weight lifted from my chest, replaced by an eerie calm. Sleep came quickly, pulling me into its merciful embrace. *** Five days later, the house smelled of a feast as Harry prepared for our seventh wedding anniversary. I woke to the sound of his humming downstairs, the aroma of dinner wafting up to the bedroom. For a moment, I lay still, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I was making the right choice. A knock at the door broke the fragile peace. “Harry, the power’s out at my house,” came a soft, sugary voice from the hall. “I’m so afraid of the dark. Can I stay here for the night?” I knew that voice. Evelyn. His good friend’s cousin, the woman who looked like a younger version of me but with sharper edges and an undeniable boldness. I sat up, listening as Harry hesitated. “No way,” he said firmly. “Clarissa doesn’t like having outsiders stay in our home.” But there was a tremor in his voice that betrayed him. And I realized then: this wasn’t just about a harmless guest seeking refuge. It was about the cracks I could no longer ignore, the betrayal that lay hidden beneath every word and gesture. As their voices faded, I sat there alone, my mind racing. I had five days to leave this life behind. Five days to find myself again. But would five days be enough to escape the shadows of Harry’s love?

Evelyn stood in the doorway, her eyes brimming with tears that glistened like polished glass. Her lips trembled as she pouted, her voice as soft and saccharine as melted honey. “Harry,” she whimpered, “you promised my brother you'd take care of me. How could you leave me alone on such a scary night?” I watched from the staircase, my arms crossed, my heart heavy with bitter amusement. The sheer absurdity of it all—it was almost comical. These two, putting on their little act for my benefit, pretending to be innocent while I knew the truth. The fiery passion they shared behind my back had left its scorched fingerprints everywhere. And yet here they were, playing their roles as if nothing had happened. Harry’s brows furrowed. “Evelyn, it’s late. Go home. Clarissa doesn’t like strangers staying over.” But Evelyn wasn’t deterred. She turned to me, her voice shifting from pitiful to pleading. “Sister,” she said, clasping her hands together, “can I stay? Just for one night? I’ll be no trouble, I promise.” Her wide, innocent eyes were a masterstroke in manipulation. I offered her a cold smile, one sharp enough to cut. “Stay,” I said flatly. Her face lit up like a child unwrapping a gift. “Yay! Clarissa is so kind and generous!” She practically skipped into the house, heading straight to the dining table. Without hesitation, she plopped herself down in my seat. “Harry,” she cooed, grinning up at him, “your cooking smells amazing. You know, I could get used to this. I want to eat your food for the rest of my life!” Harry sighed, rubbing his temples. “Evelyn,” he said sharply, “that’s Clarissa’s seat. Everything here tonight is prepared especially for her. There’s no place for you.” Despite his stern words, the banter between them was sickeningly playful, their familiarity suffocating. My stomach churned as I watched them. I pushed back my chair, my appetite gone. “Dear,” Harry called after me as I made my way to the stairs. “Why aren’t you eating? Are you feeling unwell?” I glanced back, forcing a faint smile. “A little tired. I’ll head to bed.” *** Late that night, a soft chime from my phone broke the silence of the room. It was a message on WhatsApp—from Evelyn. “Clarissa, come to the checkroom. I have a surprise for you! ” My stomach dropped. Against my better judgment, I slipped out of bed, my curiosity outweighing the dread pooling in my chest. Quietly, I made my way to the door of the checkroom. What I heard on the other side froze me in place. “Harry,” Evelyn’s voice was low, breathy and dripping with seduction, “do you think I look pretty in my sister’s clothes? Isn’t it exciting to… you know, do it here?” My breath caught in my throat as her words grew more explicit. “Your wife is old and fat now. She can’t compare to me. I’m the one who fits your body perfectly, aren’t I?” Harry’s response came in a muted growl, his movements audible through the door. “Right. I love to toy with you. I’ll keep going until you can’t even stand.” Their laughter, their whispers, their gasps—they sliced through me like shards of glass. My heart twisted and a dull ache began to spread from my abdomen. I clutched my stomach, the familiar, tormenting pain from the booster shot surging through me. I wanted to scream, to throw open the door and confront them. But instead, I turned away, my hands trembling as I covered my swollen belly. My tears blurred my vision as I staggered back to my room. Before I could close the door, Evelyn’s voice echoed once more, this time light and jubilant. “Harry, be gentle,” she teased, giggling. “I was in such a rush to see you tonight, I almost forgot to tell you the big news.” “What news?” Harry asked, his voice suddenly softer. “I’m pregnant,” she said, her tone airy. “We’re going to have a baby.” Her words hit me like a thunderclap. My head spun, my mind roaring with disbelief. Pregnant? With his child? My legs buckled and I gripped the doorframe for support. Inside the checkroom, Harry let out a gasp of delight. “Really? Evelyn, that’s amazing!” His voice was filled with joy as he kissed her repeatedly, showering her with affection. I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood. The pain in my abdomen intensified and when I glanced down, I saw my stomach, swollen and bruised, looking like an overfilled balloon ready to burst. The tears I had been holding back fell freely now. An hour later, Harry crept back into our bedroom. I closed my eyes, feigning sleep as he slipped into bed beside me. He wrapped his arms around me carefully, as though I were something fragile. His hand found my stomach and he began to rub it gently, murmuring, “Clarissa, I love you.” I froze at his words, the irony of them crushing me under their weight. How could someone who claimed to love me so deeply hurt me so profoundly? As his breathing evened out and he fell asleep, I lay there, my mind spinning. The countdown in my head began anew. Five more days, I told myself. Five more days and I’ll finally be free. *** The next morning, I woke to an empty bed. Harry had already risen and the faint sound of laughter floated up from the kitchen. I recognized Evelyn’s petulant giggles and his indulgent chuckles. The sound of them together was like poison, spreading through me. But I swallowed it down, straightened my spine and prepared to face another day of this charade. Only five more days—five agonizing, endless days—until I could disappear from this nightmare.

The sound of Evelyn’s saccharine giggles greeted me as I descended the stairs. The morning sunlight streamed through the kitchen windows, bathing the room in a glow far too warm and cheerful for the coldness within me. “You need your brother to feed you breakfast?” she teased, her voice playful yet laced with something sharper. Harry chuckled helplessly, his smile indulgent as he picked up a doughnut and held it to her lips. “Here, eat,” he said, his tone affectionate. But instead of taking a simple bite, Evelyn leaned forward and sucked his fingers, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Mmm,” she purred, her eyebrows raised suggestively. “Evelyn!” Harry exclaimed, flustered. He reached out to tickle her and the kitchen was soon filled with their laughter, a sound that grated against my ears like nails on a chalkboard. But when he looked up and met my eyes, the laughter died. The air shifted, heavy with unease. Harry quickly pushed Evelyn aside and walked toward me, his expression suddenly full of concern. “Honey,” he began, his voice soft. “Are you feeling better today? Look—I bought you your favorite breakfast: doughnuts.” Before I could respond, Evelyn inserted herself between us, her smile bright but her eyes sharp. “Sister, look how thoughtful Harry is! He went out early this morning just for you.” She gestured to the table, where an assortment of breakfast items lay neatly arranged. “Doughnuts, tofu pudding, peanut milk—all your favorites! No wonder you’re so full of life and… curves.” She grinned, her words dripping with mockery disguised as sweetness. “Who wouldn’t be envious of being spoiled like this every day?” I ignored her jabs and turned my focus to Harry, my voice calm but edged with steel. “Hubby, have you forgotten? I’m allergic to peanut milk.” The color drained from his face and he stammered, “I—I’m sorry, I must have forgotten.” I brushed past them both and sat down at the dining table, the tension between us thick enough to cut with a knife. Breakfast, which should have been an intimate moment between two people, became a noisy circus of three. *** After breakfast, Evelyn handed me a small, ornately wrapped box. “Sister,” she said, her tone falsely sweet, “thank you for letting me stay over last night. This is a gift I prepared just for you. I know you’ll love it.” Her smile widened, but there was something sinister in her gaze, as if she were savoring a private joke. Before I could respond, Harry chimed in. “Honey, I’ll drive Evelyn home. You stay here and rest, okay?” I watched silently as the two of them left. Once the car disappeared down the street, I turned my attention to the gift box. I hesitated, my heart pounding as a sense of dread crept over me. Slowly, I lifted the lid. A pungent scent hit me immediately—heather flowers, their sweetness cloying and oppressive. Beneath them, my stomach churned at the sight of what was inside: used condoms, neatly piled, an obscene testament to their infidelity. My hands shook as I sifted through the box, only to find something worse—a USB drive. I plugged it into my laptop and the screen was flooded with video clips. One by one, they played, each more damning than the last. There they were: Evelyn and Harry. In cars. In pools. On my bed. Their naked bodies tangled in passion, their moans echoing in my ears like a cruel mockery of everything I thought was real. My chest constricted and I fell to the floor, clutching my stomach as sobs wracked my body. *** Memories came rushing back like a tidal wave. Harry, I thought bitterly, you were the one who pulled me from the darkness. You made me believe in love after my father’s betrayal drove my mother to despair. You promised me a life of happiness, a life free of lies. And now this? My nails dug into my palms as I tried to contain the agony tearing through me. But it wasn’t enough. I needed to feel something—anything—that could match the pain inside. I bolted upright and ran upstairs. Like a woman possessed, I began destroying every trace of him. The gifts he’d given me? Smashed. The wedding photos on the wall? Shattered. The love letters he wrote? Torn to shreds. My rampage continued until I stumbled upon his pregnancy preparation diary. It sat innocently on his desk, its pages filled with meticulous notes. I flipped through it, my hands trembling. There were detailed records of every stage of my IVF treatments—my hormone levels, my diet, even my mental state. His careful handwriting filled every page, his concern seemingly genuine. The sight of it only deepened the gaping hole in my chest. Was any of this real? I wondered. How could a man act so convincingly? To promise me the world, only to shatter it while holding someone else in his arms? The diary slipped from my hands as I sank to the floor, curling into myself. My tears fell freely, soaking the fabric of my clothes. I had nothing left—no strength, no hope. Just a hollow shell of the woman I used to be. As I sat there, drowning in despair, a single thought emerged from the chaos in my mind: Five more days. Just five more days and I’ll be gone forever. The countdown had begun.

The hum of my phone broke the silence. It was a text from Harry. “Honey, I’m sorry. The company has an emergency and I have to work overtime. I can’t accompany you today, but wait for me. I’ll come back soon.” Lies. The words were as hollow as the promises that had once made me believe in forever. Almost immediately, another message arrived—this one from Evelyn. Her words were sharp, dripping with malice. “Big sister, stop flattering yourself. Do you really think he’ll come back for you? He doesn’t love you anymore.” She continued, “You’re thirty-five. Old. Fat. Barren. Why don’t you just pack up and leave? He’s mine now. All I have to do is crook my finger and he’s at my feet.” Attached were photos—her and Harry on a shopping spree. They stood at the counter, his hand brushing hers as he purchased an evening gown. The same gown I had admired months ago but deemed too extravagant. For her, he threw down ten million without hesitation. I stared at the images, numb, my heart a fortress of scar tissue. Ignoring her provocations, I turned away, bandaging my hands from the wounds I had inflicted on myself in my grief. The days blurred together after that. Harry never came home. Occasionally, he sent brief, detached messages about business trips and work emergencies. But I wasn’t naive. Evelyn’s social media painted a different picture. There he was, standing just out of frame as she smiled like a flower in photos of their dates. They visited luxury boutiques, food spots and maternity clinics. Each post was a dagger, yet my heart felt cold, detached. This wasn’t new pain—it was a persistent ache, dulled by the weight of my resolve. *** Night after night, I packed. I sorted through the remnants of my life with Harry—the gifts, the love letters, the photographs. Every item carried the weight of a memory, each one suffocating me like a noose tightening around my neck. By dawn, I had collected everything into a pile in the backyard. Lighting a match, I watched the flames consume it all. The wedding photos crumbled into ash. The letters curled and blackened, their words vanishing into smoke. Even my own belongings, clothes and personal treasures—anything that connected me to this house—were sold or given away. I left no trace of myself behind. Tomorrow would mark seven years since our wedding day. But instead of celebrating, I would leave this chapter of my life behind. Forever. I spent that final night at my desk, editing two videos. The first was a montage of our love story, chronicling the moments that once felt sacred: our wedding, vacations, silly moments captured in the spontaneity of joy. The second video was a stark contrast: the evidence Evelyn had sent me. Her and Harry, their naked bodies tangled in passionate betrayal. The images that once destroyed me now fueled my purpose. By sunrise, the videos were complete. I sent them to the general manager of Carf Mansion—the city-center building that Harry had built as a testament to our love. “Tomorrow,” I instructed him, “play these videos on the building’s big screens. The first, then the second, on a continuous loop. Let the whole city see.” With a deep breath, I whispered to myself, “Harry, you wanted the world to know about our love. Now, they will.” *** That evening, Harry’s assistant arrived to escort me to a grand banquet in honor of our wedding anniversary. I allowed myself to be dressed in the exquisite gown he had chosen for me, its elegance masking the storm within. At the banquet, Harry’s eyes lit up when he saw me. He rushed forward, his voice tender. “Dear, I’ve missed you so much.” His arms wrapped around me in front of the crowd, the picture of a devoted husband. The room erupted in applause and I played along, nodding politely as he guided me through the night. To the onlookers, we were the perfect couple. But I knew better. Each step, each smile, felt like an act, a final bow before the curtain fell. Hours into the evening, I slipped away, seeking solitude by the pool. The moonlight reflected off the water, serene and indifferent to the chaos in my heart. Evelyn approached, her gown shimmering as she swayed confidently. She twirled the hem of her dress, her lips curving into a mocking smile. “Doesn’t it look stunning?” she purred. “Your husband bought it for me, along with every high-fashion gown in the city.” She leaned in, her voice a venomous whisper. “He told me himself—you’re nothing but an old, fat woman now. Someone like you could never be worthy of such luxury.” Her words sliced through the air, but I stood firm, my expression unchanging. The countdown had begun. Ten hours remained. And then, I would vanish. Forever. Evelyn’s voice was a steady drip of venom, each word designed to wound. “Hehehe, you don’t know yet, do you? The dress you’re wearing—it was actually left by my nanny. She didn’t want it, so now it's yours. A leftover, inferior remnant.” Her words were sharp, mocking. But I wasn’t interested in the petty games she played. I turned away, my heart pounding with a growing sense of frustration. But she wouldn’t stop. She grabbed my arm, her fingers digging into my skin. “I know you despise me,” she sneered. “In your heart, you probably think I’m nothing but a broken shoe, don’t you? But guess what? In your husband’s heart, you’re not even worth as much as a broken shoe.” She leaned in, her breath hot on my ear. “Do you really think he and I are just having a fling? That you’re the ‘true love’? Pfft. Let me tell you something. Your husband would rather pretend to be impotent than have a child with you.” Her eyes glinted with malice. “Because you’re psychotic.” The words hit like a slap to the face. I recoiled, my body stiff with shock, but she wasn’t finished. “Just like your mother. Your crazy murderer mother.” I froze. The world around me seemed to fade. “Didn’t you know?” she hissed, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “I heard Harry say that your mother—when she was pregnant with you—went insane and killed your father. Mental illness runs in the family, doesn’t it? Your mom was an old lunatic and you? You’re just a little lunatic.” The words spun around me, crashing into my mind like waves in a storm. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. “Harry’s afraid. Afraid that if you get pregnant, you’ll snap just like your mother did—and kill someone... maybe even him.” That final jab cut through me like a blade. My chest tightened. My breath became shallow, erratic. The world blurred. All I could see was red. A rage so fierce, so consuming, flooded my veins. Without thinking, I lunged at her. My hands wrapped around her neck, desperate to silence the poison she was spewing.