When I first got married, I thought I was the luckiest woman in the world. My husband, Daniel, was kind, hardworking, and gentle — the kind of man any woman would be proud to call her own. We settled into a modest home in Vermont, which we shared with Daniel’s widowed mother, Margaret.
But only a few weeks after our wedding, I began to notice something strange.
Every night, after I had fallen asleep, Daniel would quietly slip out of bed and tiptoe down the hallway to his mother’s room.At first, I told myself not to overthink it. “Maybe he’s just worried about her,” I reasoned. After all, Margaret was older and had a few health concerns. But as weeks turned into months, and months into years, nothing changed.
No matter the weather — rain, snow, or bitter cold — Daniel would still leave our bed every single night to sleep in his mother’s room.
When I finally asked him about it, he just said gently,
“Mom gets anxious when she’s alone at night. I’ll come back when she falls asleep.”
But he never did.
Three years passed like that.
To everyone else, we looked like the perfect family — a devoted son, a kind mother, and a dutiful wife. But inside, I felt invisible.
Sometimes, Margaret would make little comments that pierced my heart.
“A man who loves his mother is a blessing to his wife.”
I would smile politely, even though every word stung. People often praised Daniel as a model son, but I couldn’t help wondering: what kind of son sleeps in his mother’s room every night for three years? Something felt off.
One sleepless night, around 2 a.m., I heard the familiar sound of footsteps. Daniel was leaving again.
But this time, I decided to follow him.
I turned off the lamp, slowly opened our bedroom door, and crept down the hallway. Daniel’s shadow disappeared into his mother’s room, and the door closed softly behind him.
My heart pounded. I pressed my ear against the door, straining to hear.
Margaret’s frail voice broke the silence.
“Daniel… could you get the ointment? My back is itching again.”
Daniel’s voice was calm and gentle.
“Sure, Mom. Just stay still, I’ll help you.”
I hesitated for a moment, then carefully pushed the door open a crack.
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