And why was he doing all of this secretly?
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Over the next few days, I began to fear my own bedroom.
Daniel had never hit me or threatened me. But now, every time he touched me, I remembered those nighttime photographs.
Until one morning, while taking a shower, I noticed that the skin on certain parts of my belly had become irritated.
For several weeks, I’d also been experiencing a strange feeling of heaviness.
I decided to see a doctor.
I didn’t tell Daniel.
Dr. Sarah Miller was a woman in her fifties with a calm voice and attentive eyes.
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She listened to my complaints, examined my belly, and asked a few routine questions.
Then she asked:
“Does your husband know you’re here?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I remained silent for a long moment.
Then I told her about the nighttime photographs, the measuring tape, and the strange whispers.
The doctor’s expression turned serious.
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“Emily, I need to ask you something very important. Has your husband ever forced you to do something you didn’t want to do?”
I swallowed back my tears.
“Yes… for seventeen years.”
She pulled her chair closer.
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“Why haven’t you told anyone all these years?”
“Because I always thought it was normal.”
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“What was normal?”
I stared at the floor.
“My husband always insisted that before going to sleep, I tell him everything was fine, even when I wasn’t feeling well. If I said something hurt, he would become anxious and ask endless questions. Eventually, I learned to say I was fine every single night, just so he could relax.”
The doctor was silent for a moment.
“And have you asked him about the photographs?”
“I did. But he avoided answering.”
Sarah explained that photographing my body without my consent wasn’t acceptable, even if the person doing it was my husband.
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She then recommended some tests to determine what was causing the discomfort in my belly.
When I left the hospital, I had seven missed calls from Daniel.
And one message.
“Emily, I know you’ve been afraid of me these past few days. Tonight, I’ll explain everything. Please remember one thing: I never wanted to hurt you.”
I didn’t reply.
That evening, I came home earlier than usual.
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