But first, I needed to understand the house. Our mansion was massive, built by a foreign construction firm Obinna contracted before our wedding. I remembered him being incredibly specific about the basement foundations, claiming he needed a reinforced cellar for his vintage wine collection. He kept the keys to the basement on a heavy brass ring that never left his side.

I crept toward his dresser. His keys were sitting right there next to his gold wristwatch. My heart leaped into my throat. He had forgotten them.

I snatched the keys, slipping them into my pocket just as the shower stopped. I hurried downstairs, making sure to walk quietly. The door to the basement was tucked away at the very back of the kitchen, hidden behind a pantry door. I unlocked the pantry, stepped inside, and found the heavy iron door that led downstairs.

My hands shook so badly it took three tries to find the correct key. When the lock clicked open, a rush of cool, sterile air hit my face. It smelled like a hospital—bleach, copper, and medicine.

I descended the concrete steps into the darkness, using the flashlight on my phone to guide my way. At the bottom of the stairs, the room opened up into a bright, white corridor that looked nothing like a wine cellar. It was a modern, medical facility hidden deep beneath the earth.

I followed the corridor until I came to a heavy door with a small glass viewing window. I peeked inside.

There she was. The woman from beneath the bed. She was resting on a clean white cot, various monitors tracking her heartbeat and the movement of the child inside her. The ceiling above her was made of the same thick glass I had looked through earlier, revealing the wooden frame of our matrimonial bed directly overhead.

As if sensing my presence, she turned her head. When our eyes met, tears spilled down her cheeks. She raised a weak hand, gesturing toward a digital keypad next to the door.

“I’m going to get you out,” I whispered against the glass, even though she couldn’t hear me.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over the corridor light behind me. A heavy hand gripped my shoulder, spinning me around. I gasped, dropping my phone as I looked up into the dark, unreadable eyes of my husband.

“I told you, Onyinye,” Obinna said, his voice dangerously calm. “The marriage scatters if you look.”