When My Husband’s Guru Made Me Lose Our Baby

The taxi pulled up to our building, its wheels splashing through puddles of melted snow. I stared out the window at the familiar glass tower that had once felt like home. Now it loomed over me like a prison sentence.

"Mrs. Gray," the doorman said softly as he helped me out. "Welcome back."

His eyes darted away from mine, unable to hold my gaze. Did he know? Could he see the emptiness where my child had been?

I rode the elevator alone, clutching the discharge papers in my trembling hands. The doctor had warned me about postpartum depression, but what could I say? That my husband had locked me on a freezing balcony? That his spiritual guru had told him our baby's spirit was impure?

The penthouse was silent when I entered. No Duncan, no staff—just the echo of my footsteps on marble floors.

"Hello?" My voice sounded thin, fragile.

"In here," called a voice I didn't recognize.

I followed it to what had been the nursery. The door stood open, revealing a room transformed beyond recognition. The crib, the rocking chair, the hand-painted mural of forest animals—all gone. In their place stood a meditation altar, surrounded by white cushions and smelling strongly of sage.

"What happened?" I whispered, stepping inside.

"Renata thought it best to transform the energy." Duncan appeared behind me, his voice flat. "You can't heal in a space filled with trauma."

"This was our baby's room." My fingers traced where the crib had stood.

"And now it's a meditation chamber," he replied. "Renata says you need to clear the negative energy before we try again."

"We?" I turned to face him. "You locked me out on that balcony. You let me lose our child."

His expression hardened. "That's not what happened. You were ungrateful for Renata's help. She was trying to prepare you for spiritual motherhood."

"By freezing me half to death?"

"By cleansing you," he corrected. "And now she's helping you heal."

As if summoned by her name, Renata glided into the room, carrying a steaming mug that smelled of herbs.

"Ah, Serenity," she said, her voice dripping with false concern. "I've prepared a cleansing tea for you."

"I need my phone," I said, ignoring the tea. "And my laptop. I want to call my brother."

Renata's smile tightened. "Technology disrupts your healing frequencies. We've removed all devices for the duration of your recovery."

"You can't do that."

"I can," Duncan said firmly. "It's for your own good."

* * *

Three days later, the doorbell rang insistently.

"Serenity!" Charley's voice echoed through the penthouse. "I know you're in there!"

I rushed to the foyer, my heart leaping at the sound of my best friend's voice.

"Charley," I breathed as the security guard reluctantly let her in.

She stopped short when she saw me, her eyes widening. "Oh my God, what have they done to you?"

I hadn't seen myself in days, but her reaction told me everything. I must have looked hollow, ghostlike.

"I'm fine," I lied.

"You're not fine." She pulled me into a hug, then pushed me back to examine my face. "You're starving. And what's with all the white clothes? They have you dressed like some kind of cult member."

"Shh," I warned, glancing nervously toward the meditation room where Duncan and Renata were discussing the next phase of my "treatment."

Charley grabbed my arm. "Come on. I'm getting you out of here."

"She can't leave," Renata's voice cut through the air as she emerged from the hallway. "Her healing journey has barely begun."

"Who the hell are you?" Charley demanded.

"I'm her spiritual guide," Renata replied smoothly. "And you're bringing toxic chaos into this sacred space."

"This is my best friend," I said, trying to stand my ground.

"Your best friend is interfering with your recovery," Duncan said, appearing behind Renata. "Security will escort her out."

"You can't do this!" Charley protested as two guards appeared. "Serenity, they're isolating you—can't you see what's happening?"

"Ms. Chen is no longer welcome on the premises," Duncan announced coldly. "If she returns, we'll file a restraining order."

* * *

"Water," Renata said, placing a glass before me. "Nothing else for ten days."

I stared at the clear liquid, my stomach growling audibly. "Ten days? That's starvation."

"It's purification," she corrected. "Your body needs to release the toxins of attachment."

"Food isn't toxic," I argued weakly.

"Your attachment to food is," Duncan interjected. "Renata says your eating habits were contributing to your spiritual blockages."

By night four, I was light-headed and weak. My reflection in the bathroom mirror showed sunken cheeks and dull eyes. But as I crawled into bed that night, I heard the kitchen staff preparing dinner downstairs.

The smell of roast chicken drifted up through the vents.

I waited until the penthouse fell silent, then slipped from my bed. The hallway seemed endless as I crept toward the kitchen, my bare feet silent on the marble floor.

I reached for the refrigerator handle, my fingers trembling with anticipation.

The lights suddenly blazed to life.

"Security footage shows Mrs. Gray attempting to access restricted areas," Renata's voice announced through the intercom system.

The next morning, Duncan made me sit at the breakfast table with an empty plate while he and Renata ate poached eggs and toast.

"Gluttony is a spiritual weakness," he said loudly enough for the staff to hear. "Lack of discipline leads to disaster."

I sat motionless, watching them eat, as tears silently tracked down my cheeks.