Fresh off my wedding high, I moved into my husband George’s grand family estate. It felt like a dream — arches, fountains, flowers — a fairy tale setting before our honeymoon. But from day one, the maid, Valerie, looked at me like I didn’t belong. I ignored it, hoping we’d warm up to each other.

A few days later, while making breakfast, I noticed my phone missing. Valerie denied seeing it, but I found it right after she left — and on the screen was a chilling message: Check your husband’s drawer. Top left. Then RUN! My hands trembled as I rushed to our bedroom.

Inside the drawer, I found love letters — written by George to a woman named Elena. The last was a goodbye, dated just three days before our engagement. Alongside them was a key. George’s sister told me it belonged to the attic — his “favorite” room, which nobody else visited.

In the attic, I found the walls plastered with photos of George and Elena. Their intimacy was undeniable. Beneath one photo, an ultrasound was pinned — their baby. I felt sick. How could he hide this from me? As I stood frozen, Valerie appeared.

Valerie revealed Elena was her sister. She had planted the letters for me to find. George had left Elena after learning their baby would be born with Down syndrome — he saw them as a burden. Valerie believed I deserved the truth.

George’s silence confirmed everything. His family disowned him, redirecting his inheritance to Elena. I divorced him and used part of the estate to start a foundation for children with disabilities — run by Valerie and supported by George’s mother.