Chapter 2 - The Rules Diane Never Wrote Down
Natalie did not confront Diane about the schedule.
Confrontation required proof, money, somewhere to go, and at least one person willing to believe her.
Natalie had none of those things.
She photographed the paper with her phone and returned it exactly as she had found it. Then she carried the image upstairs, locked herself in the bathroom by wedging a towel beneath the door, and enlarged the photograph.
Monday through Thursday contained ordinary notes.
Laundry.
Shopping.
Clean guest rooms.
Prepare Mark’s meals.
Friday was different.
At 8:00 p.m., Diane had written final correction.
Below it was a small symbol shaped like a circle divided by a vertical line.
Natalie had seen the symbol before.
It appeared on an old silver box inside Diane’s study.
The study door remained locked even when Diane was home. Mark claimed the room contained private medical records from his grandfather’s clinics.
Natalie had entered it only once.
That had been six months after her wedding.
She was searching for a spare phone charger when she noticed the door open. Diane had been outside meeting a delivery driver.
Inside, the study smelled of dust and antiseptic.
Metal filing cabinets lined the walls. A medical examination table stood beneath the window. On the desk lay photographs of women Natalie did not recognize.
All of them were young.
All of them were standing beside members of the Mercer family.
One photograph showed Mark’s father with a dark-haired woman who was not Diane.
Another showed Mark’s uncle beside a woman whose face had been scratched away.
In the center of the desk sat the silver box.
The same divided-circle symbol was engraved on its lid.
Natalie had lifted the lid and found strips of yellowed paper labeled with names and dates.
Before she could read them, Diane appeared behind her.
The older woman had not shouted.
That made it worse.
She had closed the box, taken Natalie by the elbow, and walked her into the hallway.
“You entered a private room,” Diane said.
“I was looking for a charger.”
“You lied to me.”
“I didn’t.”
Diane’s fingers tightened until Natalie winced.
“Every woman who enters this family eventually learns obedience.”
That night, Mark accused Natalie of stealing jewelry from the study.
No jewelry was missing.
It did not matter.
He took her bank card, changed the house alarm code, and demanded access to her phone.
Natalie gave him the password.
Afterward, Diane placed the sewing needle tin in the kitchen.
At first, the punishments had been small.
A needle pushed into the back of Natalie’s hand when she dropped a glass.
A jab beneath the shoulder when she spoke over Diane at dinner.
A sharp point driven into her thigh beneath the table when she disagreed with Mark in front of guests.
Diane called them reminders.
Mark called them family disagreements.
Natalie called them nothing.
Naming them would make them real.
Now she stared at the words final correction and wondered what Diane planned to correct.
A knock struck the bathroom door.
“Natalie?”
Mark.
She quickly closed the photograph.
“One second.”
“What are you doing?”
“Showering.”
“I don’t hear water.”
Natalie turned on the faucet.
The doorknob moved.
“Open the door.”
“I’m not dressed.”
“We’re married.”
She pulled the towel from beneath the door and opened it.
Mark entered immediately.
His gaze traveled from her fully clothed body to the running faucet.
“You said you were showering.”
“I was about to.”
“Give me your phone.”
Her heart stumbled.
“Why?”
“Because I asked.”
She handed it to him.
Mark unlocked the screen and opened her messages. He searched through them slowly, then checked the photo gallery.
Natalie had deleted the image from the main folder, but it remained in the recently deleted album.
Mark’s thumb hovered over the screen.
Then a ringtone sounded from downstairs.
Diane called his name.
He locked the phone and placed it on the counter.
“Mother wants us in the dining room.”
“What for?”
“A family discussion.”
“At ten in the morning?”
He walked out without answering.
Natalie waited until his footsteps faded. She picked up the phone and permanently erased the photograph.
Then she opened the vent cover above the toilet.
Inside, wrapped in a plastic bag, was a second phone.
It had no active service plan, but it could connect to public networks outside the house. Natalie had bought it with cash eight months earlier.
She sent the photograph to an email address Mark did not know existed.
Then she returned the phone to the vent.
In the dining room, Diane sat at the head of the table.
A small stack of papers lay in front of her.
Mark stood near the window.
“Sit down,” Diane said.
Natalie remained standing.
“What is this?”
Diane placed one hand on the documents.
“A solution.”
“To what?”
“To your failure to give this family a child.”
Natalie looked at Mark.
They had been trying to have a baby for nearly two years. Every test Natalie had taken showed nothing physically wrong with her. Mark had refused testing.
Diane pushed the papers forward.
On top was a consent form from the Bellhaven Reproductive Institute.
Natalie recognized the divided-circle symbol in the top corner.
“I’m not signing this.”
Mark exhaled.
“You haven’t even read it.”
“I don’t need to.”
Diane’s mouth tightened.
“It authorizes a complete fertility evaluation.”
“For both of us?”
Silence.
Natalie looked at Mark.
“For both of us?”
Mark walked to the table.
“This is about you.”
“Why?”
“Because Mother has arranged it.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
Diane rose.
“The women in this family have always understood their duty.”
“I’m not one of your women.”
The room went still.
Mark’s jaw tightened.
Diane approached Natalie with deliberate calm.
“No,” Diane said. “Not yet.”
She reached into her pocket.
Natalie saw the flash of metal.
This time, she caught Diane’s wrist before the needle touched her.
Mark immediately grabbed Natalie from behind.
“Let her go,” Natalie cried.
“You’re hurting her,” Mark said.
“She was going to stab me.”
“It’s a sewing needle.”
Diane looked at Natalie’s hand around her wrist.
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“You should release me.”
Natalie did.
Diane smoothed her sleeve.
Then she smiled.
“Friday,” she said. “You will attend the appointment.”
“I won’t.”
Mark tightened his grip on Natalie’s shoulders.
“Yes,” he said. “You will.”
Diane returned to her chair.
“And afterward,” she added, “we will finally know whether you are worth keeping.”
As Natalie turned toward the doorway, she noticed something written on the final page of the medical forms.
A patient identification number.
May you like
The number had been assigned twelve years earlier.
Long before Natalie had ever met Mark.
