The day I moved in with my husband, I opened his drawer and my blood froze.

Freya was prepared to commence her life as a newlywed and relocated to her husband George’s family estate. Nevertheless, their vows were rapidly shattered when Valerie, the maid, informed Freya of George’s concealed life.
Immediately following my wedding, I relocated to my husband’s family residence, which appeared to be a scene from a fairy tale. It was characterized by arches, high ceilings, fountains, and an abundance of flowers.

I was instructed by George to relocate and establish myself in the area prior to our departure for our honeymoon in the South of France.
However, the situation was not entirely as it appeared. Valerie, the maid, conveyed to me a message that read, “You are not welcome here,” from the moment I arrived. I endeavored to shake it off; I intended to remain in this location. Valerie was obligated to address that matter.

I resolved to prepare breakfast for my new family after a few days of acclimating. The house was expansive, and George’s younger brother and sister continued to reside there. Consequently, I coordinated an extensive meal.
Valerie observed my every movement as she wiped the countertops in the kitchen with me. She induced anxiety in me. I was unable to locate my phone when I reached across the table to research various egg-making methods.
“Have you seen my phone?” I inquired with Valerie, as I was certain that it had been on the table in front of her.

Valerie shook her head, barely catching my gaze.

She stated, “If I were you, I would expedite the breakfast.” “The family expects it on the table before they come downstairs.”

Valerie departed the kitchen, and I followed her recommendation and finished the breakfast.
“Have you seen my phone?” I inquired with Valerie, as I was certain that it had been on the table in front of her.

Valerie shook her head, barely catching my gaze.

She stated, “If I were you, I would expedite the breakfast.” “The family expects it on the table before they come downstairs.”

Valerie departed the kitchen, and I followed her recommendation and finished the breakfast.
I made my way to our bedroom, my heart pounding, the warning playing on repeat in my mind. Valerie had made the bed and folded the clothes that we had discarded on the floor the night before in my absence.

I hesitated before opening the drawer, as a feeling of apprehension overtook me. The instant I opened it, I was uncertain as to what would transpire. I was unaware of the secrets that George had concealed for me to discover.

A stack of letters, tied with a faded ribbon, and an old key were discovered within. The letters, which were composed by my husband, were addressed to an individual named Elena.
I sat on our bed and perused each letter, which conveyed the love and future that George had expressed to another individual.
My heart broke a little more with each word. The final letter was a farewell; the date indicates that it was written just three days prior to George’s proposal to me.

Also, what is the key?

“Do you know what this key is for?” As soon as I discovered that it was incompatible with our room, I consulted with Ivy, George’s younger sister.

She examined the key, stating, “I believe it is intended for the attic.” “It must be; that was George’s preferred room.” I am unsure of the reason; it has always been so dim and drafty to me. I have not visited in several years.
I eventually reached the attic, and it was as dim and drafty as Ivy had described.
However, my blood quickly cooled as soon as I activated the light.

The walls of the room were adorned with photographs of my husband and a woman whom I presumed to be Elena. The affection between the couple was evident in each photograph, as it seemed to vibrate off the page.

It belittled me. It derided our union. It was a mockery of all the sentiments I harbored toward George.

I sat in the sole armchair in the room, absorbing the environment before my knees could buckle. At that moment, my eyes were drawn to an ultrasound that was affixed to the wall beneath a photograph of George and Elena dancing in a courtyard.

Elena and George were expecting a child. Certainly, they were.

I was unable to comprehend how he could have concealed it from me for such an extended period.
The truth about Elena was one thing; however, concealing a baby from me? That was inconceivable.

I was perusing each photograph, contemplating how George could have abandoned Elena while she was pregnant with his child.

A soft voice emerged from the doorway, asking, “Freya?”

“Valerie,” I said, suddenly sensing that I was in an inappropriate location.

“You were not intended to discover this information in this manner,” she stated, her tone tinged with pity.
“You knew about this?” I inquired, uncertain about how to address her.

She slowly nodded.

“Elena is my sister.” She believed that you were entitled to be informed of the truth. When I was cleaning up this morning, she presented me with the letters, which I deposited in George’s drawer. “And the baby?” I inquired, my voice trembling.

Valerie leaned against the wall and shared information with me regarding Elena. Two years ago, Valerie requested that Elena assist with the cleaning during the family’s annual Christmas party.

“They established a rapport immediately.” Subsequently, they found themselves in love. However, George was adamant about not engaging with Elena after she learned about the baby’s condition.
Valerie stated that George was willing to marry Elena out of love; however, upon discovering that the child had Down syndrome, he regarded them as a burden.
“He assured Elena that he would advocate for her with his family and convince them that she was more than a mere maid.” But circumstances underwent a transformation.

We all entered the living room, where the family was relaxing; George was not present. I informed his parents about the letters and the attic, which was adorned with photographs.

Elena and her infant were disclosed to them by Valerie.

After we had finished, George entered the living room, his expression indicating that he had overheard the conversation.
His father, with his eyes fixed on my husband, inquired, “Is this accurate?”

George’s silence was a damning admission; he had no words.

The family’s discord was swift. George’s inheritance was redirected to support Elena and her soon-to-be-born child, as he was cut off.
And I?

George did not even attempt to contest the divorce; he was emotionally distraught over the loss of his financial resources. My in-laws provided me with assets that were intended for George, which allowed me to begin anew.

In order to guarantee that the genuine triumph was the foundation I established for Elena’s child, I sold a portion of them. The establishment of a foundation for children with disabilities. Valerie currently oversees the situation, with assistance from myself and George’s mother, who immediately severed her relationship with her son upon learning of the pregnancy.

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