Anniversary Night: Exposing His Sweet Sister

In the three years we've been married, Colin Luther never touches me once.

Living in the room next door is Rebecca Jennings, his adopted younger sister with no blood relation to him. She supposedly suffers from severe androphobia. Whenever she sees any man other than Colin, she trembles uncontrollably.

Whenever she has nightmares in the middle of the night, Colin immediately leaves me and rushes to her room.

So, the master bedroom is given to her. I sleep on a folding bed in the study, and Colin sleeps on the floor outside her door to stand guard.

Every week, my mother-in-law, Alicia Brooks, comes by with the soup she made herself. The first thing she does is go into Rebecca's room. Only after that does she spare me a glance.

She says, "Nat, remember to hand-wash Becca's underwear. Her skin is sensitive, so it can't go in the washing machine."

My father-in-law, Isaac Luther, is even worse.

At our last family gathering, he slaps his thigh in front of their relatives and says, "If Becca weren't sick, I'd want her to be my daughter-in-law!"

I simply smile while serving the dishes and say nothing.

For three years, I endure everything in silence.

But yesterday, I find two items hidden beneath Rebecca's pillow. There is the silk camisole that went missing six months ago and a pack of birth control pills with only two tablets left.

Androphobia?

Well, today is our third wedding anniversary. It's time for a proper celebration.

The foldable bed's springs creaked for the entire night.

I had to brace myself by my waist twice before I managed to push myself up into a sitting position. I reached for the bottle of stomach medication on the bedside table, twisting the lid off and shaking it lightly.

The bottle was empty. It had been empty for a week.

My husband's adopted sister, Rebecca Jennings, spoke from the next room. "Did you manage to get some sleep on the hard floor last night, Colin? You can sleep on the bed next time. I won't be scared."

My husband, Colin Luther, told her that he was fine in a low voice.

I heard the sounds of a door being opened and closed, followed by a set of footsteps heading toward the kitchen. The stove hummed. A few moments later, the sweet scent of warm milk seeped through the cracks of the study's door.

I pushed the door open and left the study.

A glass of warm milk sat on the kitchen counter, steam rising from its surface. Next to the glass of milk was a glass of water that I had poured for myself the night before.

I picked up the glass of water and took a sip, letting it cool my heart.

The bathroom counter was packed with Rebecca's skincare products—facial cleansers, serums, two boxes of facial masks, and a tube of eye cream. Her things took up about two-thirds of the counter.

My toothbrush and towel were squeezed in a corner in a faded plastic cup.

There were two sticky notes on the fridge. The one on the left had Colin's neat handwriting.

"Becca's daily medications reminder: Half a clonazepam at 8:00 am. One melatonin at 9:00 pm."

The sticky note on the right had been stuck on the fridge for nine days. The corners of the tape were already beginning to curl.

"Please get a bottle of stomach medication for me—Nat."

I had reminded Colin twice to get me the stomach medication. He promised me that he would do so, but he forgot each time. Yet, he had never forgotten about Rebecca's medications.

Colin's mother, Alicia Brooks, video-called me. When the call connected, she appeared on the screen holding a porcelain mug.

"Did Becca sleep well last night?" she asked.

"She did, Mom," I replied.

"Becca's skin becomes extra sensitive when the seasons change, Nat. Remember to handwash her silk garments. The washing machine's too rough. Don't slack off."

"I understand."

"Okay. That's all."

Alicia hung up as soon as she was done speaking. She only asked about Rebecca and gave me orders.

I gripped my phone as I stood in the kitchen.

The soup in the pot bubbled noisily. I ladled a bowl of soup for Colin and another bowl for Rebecca. I then sat down and took another sip of water.

Colin scrolled on his phone as he ate the soup. He suddenly turned the screen toward Rebecca and said, "This psychological counselor has a pretty good reputation. He's currently employed at St. Grace Hospital. Why don't I take you to meet him on Saturday?"

Rebecca nibbled on her spoon and nodded. "I won't be scared if you're there, Colin," she mumbled softly.

Colin smiled before he turned to look at me, asking, "Are you working on Saturday? You can just stay home if you're not. I'll take Rebecca to the hospital."

I picked up a slice of bread and asked, "Do you know what day it is today?"

Colin mulled over his thoughts before answering, "It's Thursday."

I tore the slice of bread into smaller chunks. I stuffed them into my mouth and nodded.

It was our third wedding anniversary.

Colin didn't remember our first or second wedding anniversary, but he remembered how Rebecca had a so-called fear exposure training every Thursday at 3:00 pm. He was never late to any of the sessions.

After I finished my meal, I returned to the study and locked the door. I then pulled out a silk camisole and a strip of birth control pills from under my pillow.

I had lost the camisole six months ago. I couldn't find it even after searching every nook and cranny in the house.

I found it under Rebecca's pillow yesterday. My hands didn't shake even once when I pulled out my phone and snapped photos of the front and back of the camisole.

I flipped the strip of birth control pills around and held it up against the light streaming in through the window, looking at the date that was embossed on the strip. The last pill had been removed three days ago.

Three days ago, Colin had said that he was going to sleep on the floor in front of Rebecca's door.

I saved the four photos into a password-protected folder in my photo album that was labeled "Daily". I had already collected over 300 screenshots in that folder.

I placed the silk camisole and strip of birth control pills back under Rebecca's pillow, making sure it looked untouched. I then navigated to my contact list and searched for a number that I had saved three months ago but hadn't dialed even once.

The number belonged to a lawyer, Damien Wesley.

I tapped on my chat with him. My fingers remained suspended above the keyboard for a brief moment before I exited the chat and locked my phone.

It wasn't the right time yet.