The Ashmore Lady

Chapter 3: Reluctant Agreement

"You always think you know who you are—what you're willing to do, where your boundaries are," they say, remembering the suffocating pressure from all sides. "But when your entire family is on your back, telling you that your identity is the only thing standing between them and their future, it's amazing how fast those boundaries start to blur."

Weeks passed after that first conversation, but it wasn't over. It was never over.

Every day, I could feel them wearing me down, chipping away at my resolve. My father would pull me aside, reminding me how close we were to losing everything. My mother would ask me to sit with her for tea, casually mentioning how hard it would be for the family to adjust to a life without the house, without the reputation. William would make little comments in passing about how much was at stake, while John kept it more direct, constantly laying out the "practical" side of it all, making it sound like I was the unreasonable one for hesitating.

"I'm not saying it'll be easy," John had said one night, cornering me in the hallway. "But think about what this means for all of us, Simon. It's not forever. It's just a temporary sacrifice."

That was the line they kept feeding me: It's temporary. It'll all go back to normal after we secure the inheritance.

I tried to resist. At first, I fought back every time they brought it up. I argued. I shouted. I slammed doors. But the pressure never stopped. And slowly, it started to feel like the walls were closing in. Like I was the only thing keeping the whole family from falling apart.

"Simon, please," my mother would say, her eyes filled with that familiar mix of desperation and manipulation. "This isn't just about you. We're a family. We stand together. You have to see that."

And part of me did. Part of me hated that they were right—that without me, the family would lose everything. But the cost... I wasn't sure I could pay it.

The moment I finally agreed is still a blur in my memory. I don't remember the exact words, only that I felt like I was drowning, and saying "yes" was the only way to come up for air.

It was at dinner, another family meeting disguised as a casual meal. My father was talking about the will again, laying out timelines, contingency plans, everything we already knew by heart.

"You've had time to think, Simon," he said, his tone unusually soft. "We need an answer."

I looked around the table. My mother's anxious face. John's calculating expression. William's usual indifference, though even he looked tense tonight.

"I..." I started, then stopped, feeling the weight of their expectations on me. I couldn't breathe.

"It's not forever," John reminded me, leaning forward slightly. "You know that, right?"

"It'll only be until the inheritance is settled," my mother added quickly. "Then things can go back to normal."

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. I knew I was about to make a decision that would change everything, and yet... I couldn't see a way out.

"Fine," I muttered, barely loud enough for them to hear. "I'll do it."

For a moment, no one moved. No one breathed. And then, slowly, the tension in the room lifted. My father nodded, my mother let out a relieved sigh, and John leaned back, his lips twitching into a satisfied smile.

"We knew you'd come around," John said, his tone annoyingly triumphant.

But all I could feel was the sickening weight of what I'd just agreed to.

The next morning, I woke up to find my entire wardrobe had disappeared.

I stood in my room, staring at the empty space where my clothes used to hang. My drawers had been cleared out, too. In their place, hanging neatly on the racks, were dresses, skirts, blouses—women's clothes. The clothes they had wanted me to wear. The ones they had already purchased, probably in anticipation of this very moment.

My mother walked in, her face glowing with satisfaction.

"I took care of everything," she said, glancing around the room as if she'd just completed a great accomplishment. "We need to start right away, Madeline."

I froze. That name. The one they'd chosen for me the day before. The name they expected me to carry as though it were my own. As though I were no longer Simon at all.

"Madeline," she repeated, as if testing it on her tongue. "You'll get used to it."

I didn't respond, still staring at the clothes. They were so foreign to me, so wrong. But I knew there was no fighting it. Not anymore.

"Now, we'll start slowly," she said, walking over to a dress and holding it up. "This will be your first outfit as Madeline. Go ahead, try it on. You need to get used to this. We all do."

I couldn't move. My legs felt like lead, and my heart pounded in my chest.

"It's okay," she reassured me, her voice falsely soothing. "It's just clothes. It's just for now."

I looked at her, feeling that sinking dread again. There was no escape. No way out. This was my life now.

The following days were a blur of lessons. My mother and sisters-in-law taught me how to walk, talk, and act like a woman. They coached me on how to style my hair, apply makeup, and move with grace. Every moment felt like I was losing a part of myself, slipping further and further away from the person I used to be.

"You're doing great, Madeline," my mother would say, her voice filled with fake cheer as she adjusted my posture. "Just a little more practice, and you'll have it."

But every step, every movement, felt like a betrayal. It wasn't just clothes. It wasn't just temporary. This was changing me in ways I couldn't even put into words.

And the name. They all used it now, without hesitation.

"Madeline," John said one afternoon, as though it had always been my name. "Remember, it's only until we secure the inheritance. After that, you'll go back to normal." Always pragmatic John was, sticking to the facts, but the way he looked at me—like I was a project he was overseeing—was enough to remind me of my place. I was no longer Simon to him. I was just Madeline. A means to an end.

In public, I was just another woman. No one knew I was from the Ashmore family. No one connected me to Simon. But the family made sure to keep me out of sight whenever any relatives were around. We couldn't let them find out about Madeline until it was too late for them to intervene.

Once, I caught my reflection in the mirror. The person staring back at me—dressed in one of my new outfits, face made up and hair styled—was a stranger.

Who are you? I thought. But I couldn't answer. Because I didn't know anymore.

"He didn't realize it at the time," they say, the memory of that moment sharp and clear. "But that was just the beginning. The first step down a path he couldn't turn back from, even if I wanted to."