Chapter 5: The Echoes of Truth

Chapter 5 – Echoes of Truth

It was Sunday morning. The only morning that felt like a family might exist here.

Fletcher had left the night before, after swearing on Velora’s head. Nora had held her daughter tightly, as if her arms could shield her from truths too heavy for a child to carry. Velora smiled, trying to lighten the air. “Mom, shopping?” she asked, pulling out a crumpled note from her tiny pocket.

Nora laughed, the sound soft and cracked at the edges. Theo and Oscar came running in, waving coins and teasing each other.

“Look! I have money too!” “We’re rich!” “Let’s buy the whole mall!”

Nora chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh yes, my rich kids,” she said, watching them swirl around her like joy she didn’t always feel.

She looked around the house. It was warm, filled with laughter. But to her, it felt like a hostel. A place where children stayed, not lived. Because their father didn’t eat breakfast with them. Didn’t join them for lunch. Never sat down for dinner. He came home late at night, long after their eyes had closed. And woke up after they’d already left for school.

They saw his face only on Sundays. And even then, it was often just a glimpse.

She hated it. Hated how he missed their milestones, their tantrums, their triumphs. Hated how she had to beg for his time, only to end up arguing when he finally gave it.

She had tried to find proof of someone else, of something else. But Fletcher was careful. Too careful.

Eventually, she stopped searching. Her love had faded, like a photograph left in the sun. But she clung to one truth: No other woman had ever stood beside him in public. She was still the only one. The mother of his three beautiful children. And that meant something. Even if it wasn’t enough.

She sighed, brushing the ache aside. “Come on, darlings,” she called, “get your baths so we can go shopping!”

The kids squealed and scattered, racing to their rooms. Nora turned to the maid. “Quickly, finish up. I want to leave soon.”

The maid nodded, already moving faster.

Nora walked into the children’s room, pulling out outfits—Theo’s favorite blue shirt, Oscar’s striped tee, Velora’s sunflower dress. She laid them out carefully, her fingers lingering on the fabric. Then she moved to her own room. She had to get ready too. Not just for shopping. But for pretending. Pretending that today was enough.

They had a beautiful day.

By the time they returned home, the sky was dusky and soft. Theo had fallen asleep in the car, his head resting against the window. Oscar and Velora were barely awake, their eyes heavy with joy and exhaustion.

Nora tucked them into bed one by one, brushing their hair back, whispering goodnight. Then she moved quietly through the house, placing the new clothes into their wardrobes, the little dresses, the superhero shirts, the tiny socks that still smelled of shopping bags and laughter.

She freshened up, took her sleeping pills, and let herself drift into a silence she hoped would last.

Sunday morning arrived with the kind of peace that felt borrowed.

Oscar was the first to wake. He tiptoed into Velora’s room and poked her shoulder. She groaned, grabbed a pillow, and smacked him square in the face.

Laughter erupted.

Soon, the house was alive with squeals and thuds, pillows flying, feet stomping, voices echoing through the halls.

In the kitchen, Nora sighed as she flipped pancakes. “This house is a shouting club,” she muttered, smiling despite herself.

After breakfast, they all gathered in the lounge, curled up on the sofa in a circle. The kids argued over which animated movie to watch—Velora wanted something magical, Oscar wanted something loud, and Theo just wanted popcorn.

Nora sat nearby, scrolling through her phone, half-listening.

Then.. ping.

A message. Her screen lit up. Her face went pale.

She swallowed hard.

Another message. Then another.

She closed her eyes. Opened them again. Checked the number. Unknown.

She set the phone down, took a deep breath. Her eyes stung. “No… this isn’t true.”

Ping.

She snatched the phone, her hands trembling.

She read the message. Then read it again. From the top.

“Hey Nora, do you really think your husband is with friends?” “Oh, then who is he sitting in front of me?” “Wow, what a beautiful villa. He threw a party in his new home with his family.” “Do you know which family? His wife Sandy. And their two kids.”

Ping.

“OMG. Even Fletcher’s father, sister, and brother are here.” “So tell me, Nora… who are you? And who are those three kids living with you?”

Her breath hitched. Her chest tightened.

Ping.

“Why don’t you come and see for yourself? Here’s the address.”

Nora stared at the screen. Her fingers went numb. Her world her version of it began to collapse.

And in that moment, surrounded by cartoons and laughter, she realized: She wasn’t the only woman. She wasn’t the only family.

Her fingers trembled as she stared at the screen.

The address.

She knew it.

She knew it.

Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes widened. “No…” she whispered, voice cracking.

It wasn’t some stranger’s villa. It wasn’t a secret hideaway.

It was his factory. Their factory.

The one they built together. The one she prayed for, cried for, believed in.

She remembered the early days how they’d walk hand in hand through the dusty halls, dreaming of success.

How she’d touch every wall with reverence, whispering blessings under her breath. How Oscar was born just as the first floor was completed, and they celebrated both milestones with cake and tears.

She remembered the expansion. From one floor to four. From one plot to two.

And now this address. This betrayal. This reality.

Her knees felt weak, but her resolve hardened.

She stood abruptly from the sofa.

“Oscar, come. We have to go somewhere.”

Her voice was firm. Urgent.

Oscar looked up, confused but alert. He saw something in her eyes—something raw, something broken.

He didn’t ask questions. He just nodded and stood beside her.

Because in that moment, Nora didn’t see her son as a child. She saw him as her anchor.

She saw him as her anchor. Her protector. The only soul she could trust in a world that had just shifted beneath her feet.

Nora didn’t take her own car.

She couldn’t.

She didn’t want the comfort of familiarity. She wanted distance. She wanted detachment.

So she hailed a local cab, sat quietly beside Oscar, and stared out the window as the city blurred past.

When they arrived, she leaned forward to pay the driver, her fingers fumbling with the notes.

Then…

“Papa… Mom, look! Papa is there!”

Oscar’s voice rang out, sharp and innocent.

Nora’s hand froze mid-air.

She turned slowly, eyes locking onto the front glass of the cab.

There he was.

Fletcher.

Laughing.

Hugging a man, carefree and radiant, as if the world hadn’t just shifted beneath her feet.

Her breath caught. Her chest tightened. Her body refused to move.

Oscar reached for the door, instinctively wanting to run to his father.

But Nora clutched his wrist.

“Stay with me.”

Her voice was barely a whisper, but it held the weight of a thousand storms.

Oscar looked at her really looked. And in that moment, something changed in him.

His small heart, his young mind, felt it. The fracture. The ache. The silent war raging behind his mother’s eyes.

He nodded and sat back down.

Because he understood. Because he felt it.

Nora stared ahead, gathering the shards of her strength. She had come to see the truth. But the truth had already seen her.

As the cab slowed to a stop, Nora’s breath faltered.

The flashbacks came rushing in—the way Fletcher had gotten ready the day before, humming, whistling, smiling like a man reborn. She remembered the crisp white suit, the expensive cologne, the way he had tugged her cheek like everything was still normal.

She couldn’t breathe.

“Ma’am, do you want to go somewhere else?” the cab driver asked, breaking her trance.

She shook her head, handed him the money, and stepped out still clutching Oscar’s hand.

Oscar didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. He simply followed, his small hand wrapped in hers, ready to do whatever she needed—wordlessly, faithfully.

Nora looked ahead.

Fletcher stood with his back to her, laughing, hugging someone. She froze.

Oscar moved, about to step forward. Nora tightened her grip.

“Stay with me.”

He nodded, sensing her pain, feeling it in his chest like a weight he didn’t yet understand.

Nora took a step forward. Then another.

She walked into the villa, ignoring the beauty around her the polished floors, the velvet furniture, the chandelier that sparkled like a lie.

A woman saw her enter and quickly ducked behind someone. Nora didn’t notice.

Her eyes landed on her father-in-law, laughing with her sister-in-law, sipping a soft drink like it was just another celebration.

Her breath hitched.

She stepped closer.

He turned, startled then smirked.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, voice laced with sarcasm.

Nora’s voice trembled. “Father… what are you doing here? What’s happening?”

He took another sip, then gestured casually around the room.

“My son bought this villa for his daughter-in-law. We’re celebrating.”

Nora’s eyes filled with disbelief. Her voice cracked.

“Then who am I?”

He looked at her, unflinching.

“Well… Fletcher will divorce you soon.”

Nora stood frozen in the villa’s grand hall, Oscar’s hand still in hers, her heart thudding against the silence.

Two of Fletcher’s sisters glanced at her then turned away, their expressions cold, almost hateful.

It stung.

These were the girls she had once called her own. She had been just sixteen when she entered this house as a daughter-in-law. Fletcher was the eldest, and though his sisters were older than her, she had treated them like younger siblings braiding their hair, helping with homework, shielding them from their father’s temper.

She had loved them.

And the younger two who weren’t here today had once called her “Ma” after their own mother passed. Nora had stepped into that role without hesitation, giving them warmth, guidance, and the kind of love she herself had longed for.

But today… they were gone. And the ones who remained looked at her like she was a stranger.

Her breath caught.

A flashback surged forward.

She saw her father-in-law, pale and trembling, vomiting blood in the middle of the night. She had cleaned it bare hands, no hesitation. She had stayed by his side through every hospital visit, every fever, every moment of weakness.

She had fed him, bathed him, prayed for him.

And now…

She had given them everything, her youth, her loyalty, her silence. And now, standing in the house she helped build, surrounded by strangers wearing her memories, Nora understood: She was no longer asking for truth. She was demanding it!!

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