The Husband's Secret: A Psychological Thriller, page 1
THE HUSBAND’S SECRET
A PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER
FRANKLIN CHRISTOPHER
UNSTEREOTYPICAL PUBLISHING
Copyright © 2024 by Franklin Christopher
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
SYNOPSIS
"He has a dark secret, but so does she.
Pamela Whitherspoon seemingly has it all—a stunning adopted daughter, a beautiful oceanfront home, and a wealthy, doting husband. But one void remains: a biological child of her own.
After multiple heartbreaking miscarriages, Pamela's dream of motherhood lies in tatters. With each pregnancy, her once-adoring husband Kyle grows increasingly cold and distant, inexplicably repelled by the prospect of fatherhood. His transformation from loving partner to virtual stranger leaves Pamela bewildered and devastated.
Their picture-perfect facade crumbles during a vicious argument about having children. In the aftermath, their housekeeper Chloe abruptly quits, cryptically alluding to something deeply disturbing she witnessed while cleaning the attic—something involving Kyle that she dares not speak aloud.
Driven by a mix of dread and curiosity, Pamela investigates. Hidden beneath a loose floorboard, she unearths a box of old VHS tapes. As she watches, Kyle's darkest secret unfolds before her eyes, shattering her world and filling her with a perverse relief that she never bore his child.
Now, Pamela faces an impossible choice: flee and bury the truth, or confront the monster she married and ensure he pays for his deception. In this chilling psychological thriller, she must navigate a labyrinth of lies to protect herself and her daughter from a danger closer than she ever imagined.
This Psychological thriller is perfect for fans of Freida McFadden, John Marrs, Lucinda Berry and Kiersten Modglin.
CONTENTS
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1. Kyle
2. Kyle
3. Pamela
4. Kyle
5. Kyle
6. Pamela
7. Pamela
8. Kyle
9. Kyle
10. Pamela
11. Pamela
12. Kyle
13. Pamela
14. Kyle
15. Kyle
16. Pamela
17. Beatrice
18. Pamela
19. Kyle
20. Pamela
21. Pamela
22. Pamela
23. Pamela
24. Kyle
25. Pamela
26. Pamela
27. Pamela
28. Kyle
29. Pamela
30. Pamela
31. Kyle
32. Pamela
33. Kyle
34. Kyle
35. Kyle
36. Kyle
37. Kyle
38. Kyle
39. Kyle
40. Kyle
41. Kyle
42. Kyle
43. Kyle
Book 2: Sneak Peak
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CHAPTER 1
KYLE
Someone is trying to kill my beautiful wife. The culprit? Her damn womb. To be honest, I don’t care about her womb. I’m pretty happy she can’t carry a child to term because I don’t want—and never have wanted—children. It’s just painful watching Pamela go through miscarriage after miscarriage, seeing the hope in her eyes die a little more each time—it’s almost enough to make a man believe in curses.
Almost.
Our kitchen is a rainbow nightmare of streamers and tiny booties. Pamela bustles about, preparing for her friend Sheila’s baby shower. The only problem is Sheila’s not a real friend. She’s one of those women who wishes she could have Pamela’s life and hangs around just for the perks—like this shower that we were paying for–excuse me, that I am paying for. This is the third baby shower Pamela has planned this year, and frankly, I’m tired of footing the bill.
Most of these women are mothers at Marissa’s school, and they are big supporters of her organic baby food business. A business that my wife doesn’t need to own because, as a man, I take care of everything. She doesn’t have to work because we come from money.
I watch my wife. There’s a tension in her shoulders, a brittleness to her smile.
I spy her from the doorway, admiring how she moves with practiced efficiency. My wife is an average mocha-complected woman with beautiful skin. You’d think she would have acne with all the sugar she consumes, but her skin remains flawless. She has a certain grace about her, although she has gained weight over the years—about 31.7 pounds since our wedding day, to be exact. That’s quite a bit of weight for someone 5’6. I secretly monitor her weight strictly for health reasons—of course. Pamela is not supermodel pretty, but attractive enough that I don’t have to worry about too much competition. I hate competition. I’d rate her a 5.5/10 without makeup and a solid 8 with it—maybe a nine if she dropped the weight.
“Need any help, darling?” I ask, knowing full well she’ll refuse. Pamela likes to do these things to prove she can handle everything.
She turns, startled by my presence. “Oh! No, I’m fine. Just finishing up the decorations.”
I nod, moving closer to inspect her handiwork. The kitchen island is covered in multicolored miniature food items like candies, cakes, and everything sweet. It’s all so…feminine. So maternal. So caloric.
It makes my skin crawl.
“It looks lovely,” I lie because that’s what good husbands do. “Sheila will be thrilled.”
Pamela’s smile wavers momentarily, and I can see the pain she’s trying to hide. “I hope so,” she says softly. “I want everything to be perfect.”
Perfect. It’s a word we use often in this house, a standard we both strive for. But perfection, as I’ve learned, is a moving target.
I watch as Pamela fusses with a bouquet of balloons, her movements becoming more agitated with each passing moment. I know what’s coming–I’ve seen this dance before.
“I just feel so…damaged,” she finally whispers, her voice cracking. “All of my friends are having babies and shopping for maternity clothes, and I’m still…barren. Despite all the steps we’ve taken.” She means the steps she’s taken. I don’t want kids, and I’ve told her that, but if I tell her that now, the waterworks will start, and I just can’t deal with my wife crying. It hurts me to see her cry.
I bite back the words that threaten to spill out. I want to tell her that maybe this is a sign, that perhaps we’re not meant to be parents, that I’m content with just her, that she should be content with just me. But I’m not stupid. I know better than to voice these thoughts.
Instead, I move behind her, wrapping my arms around her softening waist and pudgy belly that I act like I love, even though it repulses me. I shrink stomachs for a living. I’m a personal trainer and nutritionist, but if I even mention her weight gain, it’s no pussy for me, and I love her pussy. To be honest, it’s been a while since we had sex. “Remember, all things work together for the good of those who love the Lord,” I murmur, nuzzling her neck. “If it’s in his will. It will happen.” Bible verses make her feel better. My wife claims she’s a Christian, but we’re the type of Christians that show up to church on Easter and Christmas.
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I swallow it down. It’s what she needs to hear, after all. Would it be wrong to get a vasectomy and not tell her? That would solve one problem but create another.
Pamela leans back into me, seeking comfort. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she says. “What did I do to deserve such a fantastic and wonderful husband?”
You didn’t do anything. I chose you, darling.
I smile against her skin, breathing in the scent of her floral shampoo mixed with the sugary sweetness of the cupcakes she’s been frosting. “I could say the same thing, darling,” I reply, the lie smooth as silk on my tongue. She takes a bite of the cupcake, and I kindly smack her hand. “That is your third cupcake, darling, and you haven’t even had dinner.” She shot me a look that was a mixture of both sadness and hostility. “I digress.”
As a man, it’s my job to provide Pamela with shelter, an allowance for household things, and shopping money so she can keep herself nice and pretty for when we go out and mingle with other couples. It’s a role I’ve perfected over the years—the caring and supportive husband.
But lately, it’s been getting harder to maintain the facade.
Every time she talks about babies, I see our freedom slipping away. The quiet evenings, the spontaneous trips, the uninterrupted nights—all sacrificed on the altar of parenthood that includes Disney movies and microwave popcorn. I’ve tried to steer her away from that idea, suggesting we travel more and focus on our careers. But it’s like she’s possessed by this need to procreate. I’ve even bent my rule and allowed her to adopt Marissa, thinking that would quench her thirst for a child, but it only amplified it.
I’m
seriously thinking about how much longer I can keep up this charade. I chose Pamela because she was the type of woman who would never leave, the kind of woman I could mold to fit my ideal life. But now, her desperation for a child is threatening to destroy everything I’ve carefully built.
Pamela pulls away from me, returning to her task of arranging tiny cakes into the shape of diapers. I watch her, my mind drifting to darker places.
She’s been adamant about building her business lately, even though we are rich. I’m talking about Will Smith and Jada Pinkett rich. Old money is what my mother calls it. She’s supposed to submit to me and shouldn’t have a say in the finances. But because her small baby food business is starting to turn a profit, she wants to start telling me how to invest and wants to know more about our accounts. That’s my area to handle.
If she would just do her job and be content with the life I’ve given her, we wouldn’t be in this mess. But she’s stubborn, set in her ways. If she doesn’t change course, I’ll have to take drastic measures. She has no idea what I’m capable of.
My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. I roll my eyes. Here are the other two women helping make my life a living hell. Her reinforcements—my sister, Donna, the nanny Chloe, and Marissa, the daughter I never wanted.
“Hey, brother,” Donna says, kissing me on the cheek. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispers in my ear and rushes into the house with a handful of bags. She knows I don’t want kids. Everybody knows, but my internally flawed wife doesn’t care.
Chloe comes in behind her with Marissa. I don’t get why she has to hold a six-year-old’s hand. She smiles at me as if she’s flirting but shouldn’t because if Pamela ever catches her flirting with me, she’ll kill her. She tried to get me to hire a male nanny, but I didn’t want another man in my house, gay or straight. I needed to be the only masculine authority under this roof. As I watch them bustling about preparing for a baby shower and spending my money, I become annoyed.
Women were made to be men’s helpmates and tend to their every need. It’s their function and why they were created. God made woman from man and for man. Her entire existence is an extension of me. Wo-man. Fe-male. The words that describe her have the male identity wrapped in them. So why can’t they accept their identity and fall into line? Why can’t Pamela just obey me?
A wise person once told me to find a woman who loves me more than I love her and that she would never leave. I followed their advice and did just that. I found a good southern girl who loved me and could keep a good house. I chose Pamela because she was the type of woman I could control. At least, that’s what I thought.
But if I don’t do something soon, I’m going to find myself in a desireless marriage with a 300lb wife. I fight so hard for us, for this perfect, childless life we’ve built.
“Kyle?” Pamela’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “Could you help me hang this banner?”
I paste on my most charming smile, which used to make her weak in the knees. “Of course, darling. Anything for you.”
As I help her stretch the “Congratulations, Mommy-to-Be!” banner across the archway, I can’t help but notice the way Pamela’s eyes linger on the words. The longing in her gaze is palpable, a hunger I’m beginning to resent.
“It’s going to be a lovely party,” I say, trying to distract her. “Sheila’s lucky to have a friend like you.”
Pamela nods, but I can see the tears threatening to spill over. “I just…I wish it were me,” she whispers. Now, the waterworks begin. Donna and Chloe quickly run over to Pamela and become her emotional anchors. “Is that terrible of me? To be jealous of my friend?”
“No, darling. These are normal feelings. I get jealous of my friends all the time,” Donna says.
“Mommy, can I pray for you?” Marissa asks.
“Yes, darling,” Pamela says, with a look of hope in her eyes. Marissa puts her hand on Pamela’s stomach.
“Dear God, please bless Mommy with a baby in her tummy so I can have a little sister. Amen.”
“That is so sweet, darling. Thank you for that. It makes Mommy feel so much better.”
I loathe this child. She might be a perfect addition to another family, but she gives my wife hope for a child I don’t want. I hold in my true feelings and walk toward my wife.
I pull her into an embrace, stroking her hair as she fights back sobs. “Donna is right. It’s natural to feel that way. Your time will come.”
The words taste like shit in my mouth. I don’t want her time to come.
If Pamela can’t let go of this obsession with having a baby, perhaps I need to take control.
The thought should shock me, should fill me with guilt. But instead, I feel a sense of calm wash over me.
“Why don’t you freshen up? Everything is perfect for the party tomorrow. I’ll get started on dinner,” Chloe says.
Pamela nods, wiping at her eyes. “You’re right. What would I do without you all.”
As she heads upstairs, I survey the room. Everything is perfect, just as Pamela wanted. But it comes at a price.
And I’m wondering how much I will pay to maintain this childless paradise I’ve created. How far am I willing to go to keep Pamela focused solely on me and to keep our life exactly as I want it?
As I hear the shower start upstairs, I make a decision. It’s time to take charge of this situation once and for all. After all, isn’t that what a good husband does? It’s either me or the baby, and I’m not going anywhere.
CHAPTER 2
KYLE
The gym is pulsing with energy as the rhythmic clanging of weights, and the low hum of treadmills create a familiar backdrop. I stand by the weight rack, shirtless, sweat glistening on my well-defined abs. This is my domain, the kingdom I’ve chosen.
“Damn, Kyle,” Jake, one of my personal training buddies, whistled. “You’re looking ripped, man.”
I grin, flexing slightly. “Just clean eating and hard work, brother. No shortcuts, no magic pills. That’s the real path to health.”
A group of women on their way to a spin class walks by as if on cue. Their eyes linger on my torso, and a petite redhead who looks like a mix between Beyonce and JLo reaches out to brush her hand against my arm until she caresses my chest.
“Nice tattoo,” she purrs, her fingers tracing the cross inked on my biceps. “I love a melanated man with a spiritual side.”
I give her a polite nod, maintaining my carefully crafted image. “Thank you. I chose the cross because I’m a Christian,” I reply. Inside my mind, I have bent her over and have already given her all the dick she craves, but in real life, I cannot flirt with her.
As the women giggle and move on, my co-worker, Mike, nudges me.
“Dude, she had her hands all over you. You should hit that.”
I frown, shaking my head. “Come on, man. You know I’m married.”
“So? What Pamela doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Mike presses. “Live a little, Kyle. You’re too hot to be tied down to one chick.”
“What about that big booty goddess over there that’s eyeing you?” Jake asks.
“That’s not who I am anymore,” I say, injecting just the right amount of indignation into my voice. “I made a vow before God and my wife. I intend to honor it.”
Jake rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Saint Kyle. Your loss and my gain. Since you won’t be taking that beautiful redhead up on her offer, I will.”
Anger bubbles underneath my skin. I hate when my guy friends go after girls that want me. “Go right ahead. If you got the game to get her.”
He pauses, eyeing me curiously. “I still can’t believe you walked away from med school for this gig. Don’t you ever regret it?”
I shake my head, launching into the explanation I’d rehearsed countless times. “Not for a second. In med school, all I saw were doctors pushing pills, treating symptoms instead of causes. Here, I can make a difference. I can help people take control of their health and their lives.”
“Plus,” Mike chimes in with a smirk, “the view’s probably better here than in some hospital.”
