She didn’t stand when Margot entered.
“Margot,” she said coolly.
“You look tired.”
“Good morning, Cordelia.”
“Pregnancy doesn’t suit some women,” Cordelia said lightly.
“My sister was the same way. Positively haggard by the third trimester.”
Margot lowered herself carefully into a chair.
Her back throbbed.
“Preston mentioned you had an episode last night,” Cordelia continued.
Episode.
As if Margot had done something wrong.
“Sleepwalking, apparently,” Margot said.
Cordelia sipped her tea.
“Preston’s father’s first wife had similar issues,” she said casually.
“She had to be managed eventually.”
Margot’s blood ran cold.
“Managed?”
Cordelia smiled faintly.
“These things run in families. Instability.”
She leaned forward slightly.
“Preston is understandably concerned about the baby.”
Concerned.
The word sounded almost mocking.
Margot suddenly understood.
They weren’t just controlling her.
They were building a story.
Unstable wife.
Dangerous mother.
A woman who needed to be managed.
Locked away.
Committed.
Her baby taken from her.
Margot forced her face to remain calm.
“I’m just tired,” she said evenly.
“Of course,” Cordelia replied sweetly.
“These things always start small.”
Margot stood slowly.
“I should rest.”
“Of course you should,” Cordelia said.
“Preston knows what’s best for you.”
Margot climbed the stairs in silence.
Closed the bedroom door.
Locked it.
Then she slid down against it and pressed her hands against her belly.
“I was so stupid,” she whispered.
The signs had been everywhere.
Isolation.
Control.
Gaslighting.
Financial dependence.
She had studied abuse in college.
She had promised herself she would never become one of those women.
And yet—
Here she was.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Unknown number.
Houston area code.
Her father.
Margot froze.
She had blocked his number four years earlier.
He had tried for months to reach her after she married Preston.
Letters.
Calls.
Messages through friends.
Eventually the silence came.
Or so she thought.
The phone buzzed again.
She stared at it.
Her finger hovered over the screen.
Then she heard Preston’s car pulling into the driveway.
She silenced the phone and shoved it beneath the pillow.
Whatever her father wanted—
It would have to wait.
Because she had a husband to survive first.
