Chapter 3 Silent Struggles

Suzanne adjusted her black gown, tugging it down to cover every inch of her bruised skin. The fabric clung to her body, suffocating her like a prison. Every movement sent a dull ache through her battered form. She had chosen this dress carefully. Long sleeves. A high neckline. A perfect disguise. If no one saw the marks, they wouldn't ask questions. Her reflection stared back at her from the mirror, a ghost of the woman she used to be. The makeup masked the bruises, but nothing could hide the exhaustion in her eyes. The weight of the day pressed down on her. Last night’s torment. This morning’s humiliation. And now, the dread of the event ahead. A sharp voice shattered the silence. "Get down here, Suzanne!" Beatrice. Her mother-in-law’s voice was like a blade, slicing through the walls, demanding obedience. Suzanne swallowed hard and grabbed her handbag, fingers tightening around the leather as if it could anchor her. She hurried down the stairs, her heart pounding. The maids were already finished with their tasks, their movements efficient and practiced. Meanwhile, she was late. Unprepared. Not even enough time to finish her makeup properly. Beatrice’s voice thundered from behind her. "Late again. You couldn’t even manage your own appearance, could you? You are nothing but a disgrace. You can’t even give Charles a child, and now you’re wasting everyone’s time with your laziness." Suzanne winced and bit her lip. She held back the tears burning behind her eyes. She felt so small, so insignificant under her mother-in-law’s cruel gaze. But Beatrice wasn’t done. "Make yourself useful for once. Finish your makeup and don’t embarrass me tonight." Each word cut deep, a sharp reminder of everything Suzanne wasn’t. She nodded silently, her heart heavy. There was no point in arguing. Beatrice didn’t want to hear it. Turning quickly, she headed back to the mirror. She focused on applying the makeup, masking the red flush on her cheeks. The pain of the lashes still lingered on her skin, but she ignored it. By the time Suzanne made it to the car, Beatrice was already seated in the back. Her fingers tapped impatiently against her handbag. Suzanne climbed in beside her. The silence stretched between them like a thick fog. As the car rolled toward the venue, Suzanne’s thoughts drifted. What happened to the love she once thought she had with Charles? Why couldn’t they walk into events like Sarah and Charles always did? Hand in hand. Smiling. Showing the world how happy they were. Sarah had always been her husband's closest friend. Back in high school, they had been inseparable. They shared everything. The car pulled up to the venue. Suzanne stepped out and followed Beatrice inside. The grand ballroom was alive with chatter, laughter, and the soft clinking of glasses. The moment she entered, her stomach churned. Too many familiar faces. Too many whispers. Then she saw them. Charles and Sarah. Walking in together. The murmurs started immediately. Low whispers, but loud enough to reach her ears. "They look good together, don’t they?" A woman in an emerald dress leaned toward her companion. "They always have. If Charles had married Sarah instead of... well, you know," the other woman trailed off, sneaking a glance in Suzanne’s direction. Another voice chimed in, smug and knowing. "He was too kind for his own good, taking in that orphan girl. Everyone knew she wasn’t suited for this world. It was only a matter of time before he realized it himself." "She has no pedigree, no refinement. Charles deserved better," another woman whispered, giggling behind her hand. "Sarah, on the other hand, fits perfectly. Just look at them." Suzanne’s fingers curled into fists. Her nails bit into her palms. Slow breaths. Steady breaths. But each word felt like a dagger slicing into her. People always talked. She knew that. But to hear it so openly, so carelessly, as if she wasn’t even there... Beatrice smirked beside her. "Well," she said loudly, making sure everyone heard, "some people simply aren’t meant for this life." Laughter rippled through the group. Suzanne’s stomach twisted. The nausea crept in. But she squared her shoulders and stood tall. She couldn't let them see her break. Steeling herself, she made her way toward Sarah. Her steps were steady, even as a storm raged inside her. "Sarah," Suzanne said with a forced smile, pretending the night wasn’t filled with a thousand painful reminders. Sarah’s eyes locked onto Suzanne’s face. Concern flickered in them. "Are you okay?" Sarah asked quietly. Suzanne felt the heat in her cheeks rise. She quickly turned her head to the side, hoping her makeup hid the truth. But Sarah wasn’t fooled. "You’ve been hurt, haven’t you?" Sarah whispered. Suzanne’s heart sank. She didn’t know how to answer. Not here. Not in front of everyone. But Sarah knew her too well. Before she could speak, a presence settled beside her. Charles. He stood with Sarah, his hand in hers. Comfortable. Familiar. Suzanne blinked, her mind scrambling. Her husband's best friend. Her husband. Together in a way that seemed so natural. So effortless. Why couldn’t things be that way between her and Charles? "Is everything alright, Suzanne?" Charles asked. His voice held a hint of indifference. He didn’t look at her the way he used to. No warmth. No affection. Just coldness. Sarah smiled up at him, her expression soft. There was something between them. Something Suzanne wasn’t a part of anymore. Beatrice’s voice cut through the moment. "You look lovely tonight, Sarah." Her eyes gleamed with admiration. But there was something else beneath it. Something colder. "Such a perfect woman. Always so poised. So well-behaved. You truly know how to make an impression." The praise was clear. So was the insult beneath it. Sarah’s smile widened. Pride flickered across her face. Suzanne’s stomach turned. The sharp pang of nausea clawed up her throat. She couldn’t stand it anymore. The suffocating tension. The pitying glances. The constant reminder of everything she wasn’t. "I’m not feeling well," Suzanne muttered. Her voice shook. She turned away from them, barely making it to the bathroom before her stomach lurched. She gripped the sink, her body trembling. Tears burned her eyes. Everything she had tried to hold together—her marriage, her dignity, her strength—was unraveling. The door creaked open behind her. Beatrice’s sharp voice followed. "What on earth is wrong with you now?" Suzanne didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Beatrice scoffed. "Always with the dramatics." The door opened again. "Suzanne, are you okay?" Sarah’s voice was soft with concern. Suzanne didn’t respond. She pushed past them. Her hands trembled. Her vision blurred. Beatrice’s voice chased after her. "Where do you think you’re going?" "I can’t... I can’t do this anymore," Suzanne whispered. Her voice cracked. But she didn’t get far. Her legs buckled. The world tilted. Before she could stop it, darkness swallowed her whole.