Fractured Vows

The grand dining room was immaculate, its polished mahogany table glinting under the soft glow of the crystal chandelier. The servants moved like shadows, their footsteps silent as they placed dish after dish of delicacies before the family. Suzanne Smith sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap, her heart heavy with an all-too-familiar tension.

Her mother-in-law, Beatrice Landford, perched at the head of the table like a queen, her hawk-like eyes scanning Suzanne with barely concealed disdain. Beatrice’s perfectly coiffed hair and pristine pearl necklace only added to her air of superiority.

“And how long has it been now?” Beatrice’s voice cut through the air like a blade, her tone dripping with judgment. She didn’t bother to look directly at Suzanne, instead slicing into her roast lamb with clinical precision.

Suzanne stiffened, her stomach churning. She knew exactly where this conversation was headed. “Three years,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her.

“Three years,” Beatrice repeated, her lips curling into a smirk. She set her knife and fork down, folding her hands elegantly. “Three years of marriage, and not even a whisper of a child. Do you know how ridiculous this looks for the Landford family, Suzanne? People are beginning to talk.”

Suzanne’s cheeks burned with humiliation, but she kept her gaze fixed on her plate. Across the table, her husband, Charles Langford, remained silent, scrolling through his phone as if this wasn’t his problem.

“I’m doing everything I can,” Suzanne said quietly, forcing herself to meet Beatrice’s piercing gaze.

Beatrice scoffed, leaning back in her chair. “Everything you can? You’ve been to the finest doctors money can buy, and yet here we are, still waiting. Perhaps the problem isn’t just physical, Suzanne. Perhaps you lack the… determination necessary to fulfill your role as a wife in this family.”

The words hit Suzanne like a slap, but she bit her tongue. Arguing would only make things worse. She had learned that much over the past three years.

“Mother, that’s enough,” Charles finally said, his tone more annoyed than protective. He didn’t even look up from his phone as he spoke.

Beatrice waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t interrupt me, Charles. If Suzanne isn’t going to take her duties seriously, then someone needs to hold her accountable.”

Suzanne’s grip on her fork tightened. Her “duties”? Was that all she was to them? A means to produce an heir and secure the Langford legacy?

The door to the dining room opened, and a servant entered with a bottle of wine. Suzanne seized the moment, pushing her chair back and standing abruptly. “Excuse me,” she said, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to sound composed.

“Sit down, Suzanne,” Beatrice commanded, her tone icy.

Suzanne hesitated, her chest tightening as her instincts screamed for her to leave. But years of conditioning forced her to obey. She sank back into her chair, her head bowed.

Beatrice leaned forward, her expression softening into something that resembled pity, though Suzanne knew it was anything but. “Suzanne, dear, I know this isn’t easy for you. But you must understand how important this is for our family. The Langfords have a legacy to uphold. Charles deserves an heir, and you’re running out of time.”

The words echoed in Suzanne’s mind, each one a weight dragging her deeper into despair. She wanted to scream, to tell Beatrice that she wasn’t some broodmare whose sole purpose was to bear a child. But she couldn’t. Not here. Not now.

Charles finally put his phone down, rubbing his temples as if the entire conversation was an inconvenience. “Mother, can we please just drop this for tonight? I’ve had a long day.”

Beatrice sighed, clearly annoyed. “Fine. But this discussion isn’t over.” She picked up her fork and knife, resuming her meal as if nothing had happened.

Suzanne’s appetite was long gone. She stared at her untouched plate, her mind racing. How had her life come to this? Three years ago, she had been so sure of her decision to marry Charles. She had believed in their love, believed that they could build a life together. But now, sitting in this cold, oppressive dining room, she felt like a stranger in her own life.

As dinner dragged on, the conversation shifted to business and social events, topics that Suzanne had no interest in. She nodded along when necessary, pretending to listen while her thoughts spiraled.

When the meal finally ended, Suzanne excused herself, retreating to the sanctuary of her bedroom. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, her chest heaving as she struggled to hold back tears.

Suzanne’s heart pounded as the door slammed shut. Charles stormed into the room, his expression twisted in anger.

“Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was for me?” he growled, his voice low but cutting. “Walking out of dinner like that? Mother was furious.”

She blinked, her head still spinning from the evening’s events. “Embarrassing for you?” Her voice rose with disbelief. “Charles, she humiliated me! She treats me like—”

“Like what?” he interrupted, stepping closer. His towering frame felt suffocating as she instinctively backed away. “Like a disappointment? Because that’s exactly what you’re proving to be.”

Her breath caught in her throat, anger flaring in her chest. “How dare you—”

Before she could finish, his hand lashed out, striking her across the cheek. The sound echoed in the room, and she froze, her face stinging from the force. Slowly, she turned back to him, her eyes blazing.

“Don’t you ever lay a hand on me again,” she warned, trying to leave and he grabbed her hand and dragged her towards him.

Charles smirked, his face void of regret. “Or what?” he sneered. “What are you going to do, Suzanne? Run away? You’ve got nowhere to go. No one would take you in.”

Her voice came out barely above a whisper. “Let me go.”

His grip tightened, and without another word, he yanked her forward, dragging her toward the bed. Suzanne felt her chest constrict, but she didn’t fight him. She was too drained to resist, her body limp in his hold as he shoved her onto the bed.

“You’re going to stop acting like a spoiled child and start doing what’s expected of you,” he hissed, his breath hot against her skin. “Do you understand?”

She pushed herself up, her chest heaving with fury, but there was no anger left. Only exhaustion. She looked at him, her voice low, trembling. “Get. Out.”

His jaw clenched as he stepped back, his gaze a mixture of contempt and disdain. “Don’t push me, Suzanne. You won’t like where that leads.”

She spat back at him, “You will do nothing.”

Something she regretted saying in the next second.

A tense silence fell between them before he began removing his belt, the sound of it unbuckling loud in the room. “Then I shall teach you a lesson,” he said coldly, his movement slow and deliberate.