The Heir Trap

On Labor Day, my husband worked himself to death in another woman's bed.

Halfway through the funeral, my mother-in-law said to me, "Malcolm's gone, but this family still doesn't have an heir. Clara, you're still young. Have a child with Vincent. The sooner the better."

I stared at my brother-in-law in his wheelchair, my mind going blank.

"But he's Malcolm's brother."

"Better to keep it in the family," Nora Stroud said with a smile. "This is my decision. Even if Malcolm were still alive, he'd listen to me."

Something in me snapped, and a quiet laugh slipped out.

They wanted an heir, didn't they?

Fine. Then my father-in-law could have one.

When I didn't respond, my mother-in-law, Nora Stroud, raised her voice into the microphone on purpose.

"Clara, just have a baby with Vincent. It's the same thing. Once there's a child in this family, everything settles."

My gaze shifted to my brother-in-law, Vincent Stroud, sitting beside me in his wheelchair.

He had been paralyzed since birth. He couldn't move from the waist down. He even required help going to the bathroom.

I thought back to when I first married into the Strouds. Nora would always ask him what he thought of me, whether I looked good.

So this had been her plan from the beginning. She never saw me as a daughter-in-law. To her, I was just a body meant to carry children.

I looked up at the relatives gathered in the funeral hall, hoping someone might speak up for me.

Instead, they all sided with Nora.

"Clara, Nora has a point. A wife's job is to carry on the family line."

"This kind of thing is normal where we're from. If the older brother's gone, the younger one steps in."

"Exactly. They paid for you to marry in. You can't just take the money and back out now."

A cold laugh settled in my chest.

The Strouds paid 20 thousand for the marriage, and I brought every cent back with me.

Less than six months into the marriage, my father-in-law, Quinton Stroud, had gambled it all away. I never saw a dime, but somehow I was the one blamed for taking it.

There were too many of them, and I had no interest in arguing with a room full of people like this.

I forced a smile.

"Fine, Nora. Whatever you say."

Only then did Nora lower the microphone, satisfied. The relatives immediately started smiling and offering congratulations.

"Clara, congratulations. You get to be a bride again!"

I looked at Malcolm Stroud's body lying beside me and felt nothing but bitter irony.

After the funeral, I dragged my exhausted body home. The moment I looked up, I saw Quinton standing on the balcony.

So he hadn't even gone to his own son's funeral.

Nora frowned. "What are you doing out there? The wind's strong. You'll catch a cold."

A flicker of panic crossed Quinton's face. He quickly hid something behind his back.

But I had already seen it. He was holding my underwear.

In that instant, everything clicked. The clothes I used to hang out on the balcony would sometimes come back with strange white stains.

Sometimes, they were fresh and sticky. Sometimes, they had already dried, stiff against the fabric.

I always thought I hadn't washed them properly.

Now I knew. Quinton was behind the stains.

I looked at his wrinkled face, but my mind went somewhere darker.

Every day, he would grab my underwear, press it against his filthy body, and only stop when he had satisfied himself.

My stomach churned, and I nearly threw up.

I stumbled back to my room like I was running for my life, my hands still shaking.

I had thought that if I gave this family everything I had, I might get something real in return.

Today proved otherwise.

There wasn't a single normal person in this house.

A cheating husband. A perverted father-in-law. And a mother-in-law who saw me as nothing more than livestock.

They wanted a child, didn't they?

Fine. The Strouds would get their heir.

Just not from me.