“Okay,” I said, giving up the act. “I peeped through and saw a bunch of creepy dolls.
That’s all I could see, Lou. What’s happening? Why is there a secret room full of dolls?”
Louise turned away from me, her hand gripping the sink.
She sniffed loudly. “Oh, honey,” I said. “Don’t cry.
Let’s just talk about it.” “Those dolls are my grandmother’s legacy, Connor.
She got a new one whenever they came out, and she kept them in this room. I’ve been cleaning the dust off them, and repairing the little tears in their clothes.” “Lou, that’s not so bad then.
Why didn’t you just tell me?” The truth is, I wouldn’t have stopped her from having her room full of dolls as a remembrance to her grandmother. They shared a special bond, and I knew it.
“It’s more than that, Connor,” Louise lashed out.
“Behind that wall is a room. It’s my sanctuary. It’s where I write my novels.
I asked you to respect my space, but you couldn’t even do that.”
Tears welled in her eyes. First, a secret room in our home, and now this? The revelation that my wife, the woman I thought I knew, harbored a secret life as a writer shook me to my core.
“Novels?
You’re a writer?” I asked, shock rendering me speechless. “Yes, Connor,” she said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I write under a pen name.
I’ve published books, but I’ve never wanted anyone to know.
It’s the one part of me that’s just mine.” I didn’t know what to say — so I didn’t say anything.
“I write in that room, surrounded by my grandmother’s dolls. And you… you just invaded it without a second thought?” she accused, the hurt in her voice a palpable force between us.
Louise went back to our bedroom and sank into the sheets. She threw my pillow at me—signaling that the living room would be my bedroom for the night.
In the morning, she asked for space.
“Two weeks, Connor,” she said. “I just need to think about everything. I need to re-evaluate my role in our marriage.” I couldn’t understand what was happening.
But during that sleepless night, I tossed and turned on the couch, wondering why Louise had gotten so upset with me.understood the need for privacy, and I respected hers — even if my curiosity got the better of me.
But Lou was the one with the secret room attached to a bathroom.
And a secret profession. But still, I was reeling. When Louise locked herself away in her writing room, I wrote her an apology.
The two weeks are almost over, and I’m at my parents’ home, wondering about the future of our marriage.
I want Louise and me to mend what is broken, but she hasn’t spoken to me yet.Only time will tell.
