Unconventional

Bound

Jennifer lay in the guest room, the sheets cool and unforgiving against her skin. The room, though neat, was devoid of warmth, just like the life she had been forced back into. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, curling into the hollow of the bed, trying to shut out the cold creeping into her bones. The distant sound of footsteps reached her, and her body tensed.

The door creaked open softly, and there he was—Emilio. His presence filled the room, the dim glow from the hallway casting long shadows across his tall frame. Jennifer's breath hitched, her pulse quickening as his eyes settled on her.

"Calm down," he murmured, his voice thick with that familiar, predatory edge. He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I'm just curious about how my first wife is doing."

Jennifer's heart pounded as she shrank back into the pillows. She barely managed to find her voice. "Does Maria know you're in here?"

Emilio let out a dark chuckle, his eyes gleaming. "Maria? She doesn't care. She knows her place." His gaze roamed over her, slow and deliberate, the intensity of it making her skin prickle. "The pregnancy suits you," he said, his voice a low murmur, dripping with a perverse sort of admiration. "The kid did you good."

Jennifer's stomach churned. She could feel his eyes lingering on her in ways that made her feel exposed, vulnerable. She swallowed hard, trying to suppress the rising tide of panic. "I'm not sleeping with you again, Emilio," she said, her voice trembling but resolute.

His smirk deepened, his eyes darkening as he took another step closer. "You think you can stay here with me and the baby and not give me what I want?" His voice was soft, a velvet threat. "You owe me, Jennifer. You always liked it anyway."

A cold shiver ran down her spine, but she held her ground. "I don't want you anymore," she said, her voice stronger this time, though her heart raced with fear.

Emilio's expression hardened, the air between them thickening with tension. "You don't have a choice," he said, his tone smooth yet laced with menace. "You're here because of me. You follow my rules, or you deal with the consequences. You know how this works."

The words hit her like a slap, and for a moment, she felt the weight of his control, the crushing sense of helplessness that had once consumed her. But not this time. She wouldn't give in. Not again.

"I won't be part of this," Jennifer forced out, her voice barely a whisper but filled with defiance. "Not like this."

Emilio's eyes flickered with something dark, but he didn't respond. Instead, he let out a low, humorless laugh, turning toward the door. Before leaving, he cast one last look over his shoulder. "You'll come around," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "You always do."

The door clicked shut, leaving Jennifer alone with the suffocating silence. She curled tighter into the bed, her body trembling with anger, fear, and something else she didn't want to admit. She couldn't let him break her again.

Her eyes drifted to the crib in the corner, where Amelia slept soundly, unaware of the turmoil around her. Jennifer clenched her fists, her mind racing. She needed a way out. For Amelia. For herself.

—-

Jennifer's days blurred into one long, exhausting cycle. From the moment she woke up, she was met with endless demands—scrubbing floors, dusting, cooking, and tending to the house. Emilio's sharp eyes constantly monitored her, his high standards ensuring that she was always on edge. Each day, she found herself barely keeping up, her body aching and her spirit more drained than ever.

But what gnawed at her most wasn't the chores—it was the slow erosion of her bond with Amelia. Maria had seamlessly taken over the role of caregiver, often cradling Amelia with a maternal affection that left Jennifer feeling hollow. Maria's voice was always soft and soothing when she spoke to the baby, her touch gentle, her presence comforting in a way that Jennifer felt she couldn't compete with. It was as though Maria had claimed a piece of her daughter that Jennifer had barely had the chance to hold.

While Maria fed Amelia with ease and whispered sweet songs, Jennifer was left to watch from a distance, her hands raw from scrubbing the kitchen floor or folding laundry. Each coo and laugh between Amelia and Maria was like a knife twisting deeper into Jennifer's chest. She longed to spend more time with her daughter, to hold her close, but the rare moments she had were fleeting—mostly reduced to the brief minutes of breastfeeding.

One afternoon, as Jennifer kneeled on the cold kitchen tiles, scrubbing away at a stubborn stain, she glanced up to see Maria reclining on the sofa with Amelia nestled against her chest. Maria's voice filled the room as she sang a soft lullaby, her fingers running tenderly through Amelia's hair. The baby looked peaceful, her tiny face content and at ease, wrapped in Maria's arms. The sight struck Jennifer like a blow.

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she blinked them back, focusing on her work. She couldn't afford to let her emotions show. Not in this house.

After finishing her chores, Jennifer approached Amelia for her brief window of connection—another feeding. Her hands trembled as she lifted the baby into her arms. The feel of Amelia against her chest brought some comfort, but it was overshadowed by the oppressive exhaustion that weighed her down. Every time Jennifer fed her daughter, it felt like she was trying to reclaim something that was slipping further away—her role as Amelia's mother.

But even as she tried to focus on Amelia, the gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach wouldn't leave her. For days now, a familiar nausea had lingered, unsettling her in a way she couldn't shake. The possibility that haunted her mind became too much to ignore. She needed to know.

That evening, Jennifer locked herself in the small, dimly lit bathroom, the tension in her body so taut she could barely breathe. The white tiles and fluorescent light felt cold, oppressive, just like the rest of the house. With shaking hands, she took a pregnancy test from the box, following the steps with a nervous precision, her heartbeat echoing in her ears.

Minutes passed like hours. The sound of a dripping faucet filled the silence, each drop marking the agonizing wait. When it was finally time, Jennifer forced herself to glance down at the test. Her eyes widened as she took in the unmistakable result. Pregnant. Again.

A wave of disbelief washed over her, followed quickly by a crushing sense of despair. She sank to the floor, her legs weak beneath her, her back pressing against the cold, hard wall. Tears welled up in her eyes, then spilled over, her sobs quiet at first but growing in intensity. She pressed her face into her hands, clutching the test like it was some cruel joke.

Another child. Another link to Emilio. Another reminder of the life she couldn't escape.

The weight of her new reality pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. How could she face Emilio with this news? How could she bring another innocent life into this nightmare? The thought of raising another child in the same suffocating environment made her stomach churn.

Jennifer curled into herself on the cold bathroom floor, her tears drying up but leaving her feeling empty. Her hands instinctively moved to her belly, resting on the growing life inside her. In that moment, the weight of her situation felt unbearable. But there was no escape, no way out.

All she could do was sit there, weeping for the life she dreamed of, and the one she now feared would never be hers.