part1 of 2

I married a rich man to save my family, but on our wedding night, I didn’t get what was coming to me. He simply sat in the darkness and said:

“Go to sleep. I want to watch.” The way he said it made my hair stand on end… and the next morning, I understood that this marriage was all about money.

—Nothing’s going to happen tonight. Go to sleep.

My name is Nora Hale .

That night, I sat huddled on the edge of the bed wearing a pony dress that looked like armor, trembling so hard that my teeth were chattering.

I looked at the door as if it were a septexia about to be executed.

When it opened, he entered slowly, his gaze distant and distant, and the chair in his hand chilled my blood. He brought it closer, sat down, and watched me without blinking.

—I won’t. I just want to see you sleep.

I didn’t understand what that meant. Was he sick? Was he dangerous? Was it some kind of control?

But I was exhausted, and in the morning I still had to look “normal” in front of my father. I went to bed without even taking off my dress.

When I woke up, he was already gone.

The second night, the third night, everything repeated itself. The chair. The silence. The gaze. The family moved as if they had made a pact: heads down, mouths closed, no explanations.

By the fourth night, something had left me petrified. I was asleep when I felt someone beside me. Heavy breathing near my ear.

I woke with a start, and there he was, so close I could smell his old cologne. He still hadn’t touched me. He was mesmerized, his gaze fixed on my eyelids as if he were cutting off my breath.

He shuddered as if he had been caught committing a crime and immediately stepped back.

I sat down and the room was suddenly colder.

He lowered his gaze.

I didn’t lie. It’s just that… tonight was different.

During the day, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I asked what scared me:

He stayed right by the window. Outside, the trees swayed in the wind.

My throat felt like it was going to cry.

SŅ respŅesta coпteпía más miedo que υe certeza.

That night I pretended to sleep, with my eyes closed and my mind awake. He brought the chair. He sat on the floor, next to the bed, as if he were on guard.

A long silence.

Then he admitted: “Yes.”

“Whose?”

He didn’t look at me.

—Not about you —he said—. About your past.

Little by little, the truth began to come to light. He told me that his first wife had died in her sleep.

The doctors said it was heart failure. But he believed something else had happened.

“She would wake up at night,” he said, “with her eyes open, but not really there… as if someone else was driving her.”

I got goosebumps.

Then he confessed the worst part.

He had fallen asleep once. And when he woke up…

It was already too late.

After that, he turned the house into a fortress: closed closets, bells on the doors, latches on the windows. I felt as if I were living in a prison built out of fear.

I asked in a low voice, “Do you think I could…?”

He interrupted me immediately.

—No. But fear doesn’t require logic.

Then came the first real shock.

Uпa mañaпa, Ѕп sirvieпte me coпtó qυe había estado de pie eп lo alto de la escalera eп pleпa пoche, coп los ojos abiertos, siп reaccioпar.

He had been holding me, soaked in sweat, preventing me from falling.

He looked at me and said, almost desperately:

See? I wasn’t wrong.

I was afraid, of myself, of what was hidden inside me. But I also saw something new in my fear: I wasn’t going to let it break me.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” I asked.

“Because if I fall asleep,” he said, “history repeats itself.”

One night the light went out. In the darkness, for the first time, I took his hand. He didn’t let go.

I whispered: “What if I’m scared?”

He answered as if it were an oath:

“Then I will continue watching until morning.”

And that same darkness revealed another secret.

He was ill. He didn’t have much time left.

“I didn’t want to leave you alone,” he said, “in this house… in this world.”

My eyes filled with tears.

“So you bought me?”

He hit her head.

—No. I trusted you… with my greatest fear.

Something strange happened after that. Fear became routine. Routine became a kind of security.

And then he collapsed.

The following morning, there was no chair, no footsteps, no silent vigilance. Only sirens and the hospital.

The white walls seemed like a prison. The machine’s beeps, the smell of medicine, the hurried shoes… everything intensified my fear.

He lay unconscious, older and more worn than he had ever seen him.

A doctor took me aside.

“His condition is critical ,” he said. “His heart and mind… What are you to him?”

Dude, and in that hesitation I realized that this marriage was already “paper”.

I answered firmly:

“I am his wife.”

He remained unconscious for three days. On the fourth, his fingers moved. He opened his eyes.

The first thing he asked, so gently that it broke me, was:

“Were you asleep?”

Tears flooded my eyes.

“No,” I said. ” Now it’s my turn to watch.”

While I was still recovering, I learned another truth that changed everything. An older nurse stopped me in the hallway.
“I won’t tell you everything,” he said.

He showed me old records. The death of his first wife was not natural. She fell from the roof during an episode of sleepwalking.

Before that, she had survived three similar incidents, always because he was awake and caught her.

“People thought it was strange,” the nurse said. “But the truth is, he was a guard.”

My hands began to tremble.

So he married me…

To save me.

And to punish himself.

When he got home, he was quieter. More vulnerable. He no longer sat in the chair. He slept near the door, far from the bed.

“Now I don’t have to look ,” he said. ” You’re safe.”

But I could see that he was not safe from himself.

part2