6

Amelie stared at the closed door, as if an invisible barrier had just trapped her in a golden cage. Rossie slept peacefully in her arms, breathing steadily, but Amelie herself felt suffocated, as if her lungs were no longer able to breathe in the luxurious air of this room. The tears she had been holding back now flowed freely, wettening her daughter's innocent face. She had lost everything: her freedom, her husband, and now, herself. She was Mrs. Vargas, a title that felt more like a curse than a blessing, a shackle that bound her to a cruel young master. That night, in the bridal chamber that should have been filled with warmth and love, Amelie felt only coldness and tension. She laid Rossie gently on the large bed with its clean white silk sheets, then sat on the edge of the bed, hugging herself. This was not the first night every woman dreamed of. It was the first night in hell. "God, is this punishment for my sins?" she thought. The sound of running water from the bathroom stopp