Everything felt like a dream when I moved in with my fiancé, Michael. He was that kind of man who made fresh coffee every morning, the smell waking me before my alarm even rang. Pancakes sizzled on the stove while I stretched out under the covers. Life with him blossomed in the little moments, and I truly thought I’d hit the jackpot.
But yesterday, something changed.
I was tidying up and noticed a locked door at the end of the hall — one I’d never paid much attention to before. Curiosity got the best of me, so I casually asked Michael, “What’s behind that door?”
His entire mood shifted instantly. His calm vanished, replaced by something sharp and cold. “Stay out of there! Just forget it!” he snapped.
I stood there stunned. Michael had never raised his voice at me before. Not once. So what on earth was behind that door?
Today, after he left for work, the question wouldn’t leave my mind. I searched the house, and there it was — a tiny key tucked inside his sock drawer. My heart pounding, I slid it into the lock and opened the door.
And oh my God.
The room was small and dark, but lit by a single lamp in the corner. Inside was a wall covered in photographs — hundreds of them. Pictures of women I didn’t know. Faces frozen in smiles, some happy, some terrified. Dates scribbled on the edges. Names. Phone numbers.
In the middle of it all, a chair. And a mirror facing it, cracked and eerie.
I stumbled backward, heart racing. Why? Who were these women? And what did Michael have to hide behind that door?
As the front door clicked upstairs, I shoved the door shut and locked it tight. But now, everything I thought I knew about Michael was a lie — and I had to find out the truth before it was too late.