Part 3 — “Whatever You Do, Don’t Go Downstairs”
“Because that’s where he took me.”
I stared at my husband’s first wife in the darkness.
Before I could ask what she meant, the emergency lights flickered on.
The hallway turned dim red.
At the far end stood my father-in-law.
No pillow.
No blanket.
He was simply watching us.
My husband stepped in front of me.
“Dad, this is over.”
His father smiled.
“No. It should have been over years ago.”
The woman beside me tightened her grip on my hand.
My husband stared at her.
“Anna… where have you been?”
So that was her name.
Anna.
She laughed bitterly.
“You don’t get to ask me that.”
“I thought you were dead.”
“No. Your father wanted you to think that.”
My husband turned toward him.
“What?”
His father’s expression didn’t change.
Anna looked at me.
“Come on.”
She pulled me toward the elevator.
My father-in-law called after us.
“If you leave this building, you’ll destroy your husband’s life.”
I stopped.
Anna didn’t.
“Keep walking.”
But I turned toward my husband.
He looked terrified.
Not angry.
Not embarrassed.
Terrified.
“What is he talking about?”
My husband whispered, “I don’t know.”
His father laughed.
“Of course you do.”
“Dad, stop.”
“You’ve spent your whole life benefiting from this family, and now suddenly you want to pretend you don’t know how it works?”
I looked at my husband.
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Then why did you let him into our bed?”
His eyes filled with shame.
“Because I was taught it was tradition.”
Anna stopped walking.
Then slowly turned around.
“So was I.”
I looked at her.
She continued.
“His father told me the same story. Lucky elder. Blessing. A son before the first anniversary.”
My stomach tightened.
“What happened at three?”
Anna’s face changed.
“He told me there was a second part.”
My father-in-law snapped:
“Enough.”
Anna looked directly at him.
“No.”
It was the first time I saw fear enter his face.
Anna continued.
“At three, he said the bride had to go downstairs and drink something prepared by the oldest woman in the family.”
I frowned.
“A drink?”
“Yes.”
“What was in it?”
“I don’t know.”
My father-in-law interrupted.
“Herbs. Nothing more.”
Anna laughed.
“Then why did I wake up twelve hours later?”
Silence.
My husband turned toward his father.
“What?”
Anna’s voice shook.
“I drank it because everyone told me refusing would insult the family. Ten minutes later, I couldn’t stand.”
My husband stared at her.
“You never told me.”
“I tried.”
“No, you disappeared.”
“Because your father sent me away!”
My husband went completely still.
“What?”
Anna stepped toward him.
“The morning after our wedding, I woke up in a room I didn’t recognize.”
I felt cold.
“Where?”
“Downstairs.”
My father-in-law moved toward her.
“Stop lying.”
My husband blocked him.
“Let her talk.”
Anna continued.
“There were no windows. The door was locked.”
I covered my mouth.
“How long?”
“I don’t know. Hours.”
She looked at my husband.
“When they finally let me out, your father told me I’d failed the family.”
“Failed what?”
Anna looked toward my father-in-law.
“He said I couldn’t give the family what it needed.”
My husband whispered:
“A son?”
Anna shook her head.
“No.”
That single word made everyone silent.
I asked:
“Then what did they need?”
Anna opened her mouth.
My father-in-law suddenly lunged toward her.
My husband caught him.
“Dad!”
The two men struggled.
Anna grabbed my hand.
“Elevator. Now.”
We ran.
The elevator doors opened.
Anna pulled me inside.
My husband broke away from his father and ran after us.
He made it just before the doors closed.
My father-in-law remained in the hallway.
He didn’t chase us.
He simply stared.
Then he said something that made Anna freeze.
“You can run again, Anna.”
The elevator doors began closing.
“But this time, I’ll tell him whose child you were carrying.”
Anna’s face went white.
The doors shut.
My husband stared at her.
“What child?”
Anna said nothing.
“Anna.”
She pressed the lobby button.
“What did he mean?”
Her hands were trembling.
My husband grabbed the emergency stop.
The elevator jolted.
“What child?”
Anna turned.
“I was pregnant.”
He stared at her.
“When?”
“When I left you.”
His face collapsed.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You never told me.”
“I didn’t know until afterward.”
“Was it mine?”
Anna started crying.
“Yes.”
My husband stumbled backward against the elevator wall.
“We had a baby?”
“No.”
The word barely came out.
He stared at her.
“What happened?”
“I lost him.”
Silence.
My husband covered his mouth.
Anna cried harder.
“I was seven weeks pregnant when your father found out.”
“How did he know?”
“The hospital called the emergency contact on my old insurance.”
My husband slowly looked upward, as if he could see his father through the ceiling.
“What did he do?”
“He came to see me.”
“And?”
“He offered me money.”
“For what?”
“To disappear permanently.”
My husband’s face twisted.
“You took it?”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t you come home?”
Anna stared at him.
“Because he showed me photographs.”
“What photographs?”
“Of you.”
My husband frowned.
“Me?”
“You were asleep.”
He stopped.
“Your father told me that if I came back, he would make sure something happened to you.”
My husband shook his head.
“My father wouldn’t—”
Anna reached into her coat.
She pulled out an old envelope.
Inside were photographs.
My husband took them.
His hands began shaking.
One showed him sleeping in his apartment.
Another showed him getting into his car.
Another had been taken through the window of his office.
On the back of the final photograph were four words:
LEAVE OR HE PAYS.
My husband sat against the elevator wall.
For years, he’d believed Anna had abandoned him.
She had believed leaving was the only way to save him.
And his father had allowed both of them to live with that pain.
I looked at Anna.
“Why did you come back tonight?”
She wiped her face.
“Because I heard he was getting married again.”
“To me?”
She nodded.
“I tried finding you before the wedding.”
“How?”
“Social media. Your workplace. I even sent you a letter.”
“I never received anything.”
My husband looked down.
“My father collects our mail when we’re traveling.”
We all understood.
Anna whispered:
“I couldn’t let another woman go through what happened to me.”
I looked at her.
“But what actually happened?”
Anna hesitated.
“You said they drugged you.”
“Yes.”
“You said they locked you downstairs.”
“Yes.”
“But you still haven’t told me why.”
Anna stared at the elevator doors.
“Because I didn’t know until last month.”
My pulse quickened.
“What did you find?”
“My medical records from that night.”
She pulled several folded pages from her coat.
“I requested them after I learned the old family doctor had died.”
My husband took the documents.
“What am I looking at?”
“Blood tests.”
“So?”
“They tested me for pregnancy.”
My husband stared at her.
“On our wedding night?”
“Yes.”
“But you said you didn’t know you were pregnant until later.”
“I didn’t.”
She pointed to the date.
“The test that night was negative. I became pregnant afterward.”
I frowned.
“Then why test you?”
Anna looked at me.
“Because pregnancy wasn’t what they were looking for.”
My stomach tightened.
“What were they looking for?”
“Blood type.”
Silence.
I stared at her.
“My blood type?”
“And other compatibility markers.”
My husband looked confused.
“Compatibility with who?”
Anna’s eyes moved toward him.
“Your mother.”
He stopped breathing.
“My mother died when I was twelve.”
Anna nodded.
“I know.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
Anna handed him another document.
A hospital admission record.
His mother’s name was printed across the top.
But the date was from six years ago.
Long after her supposed death.
My husband stared at it.
“No.”
I whispered:
“Your mother is alive?”
Anna nodded.
“And according to the records, she’s been receiving treatment under another name for years.”
My husband looked as though the floor had disappeared beneath him.
“Why would my father tell me she was dead?”
Anna answered:
“Because your mother needed something.”
“What?”
“A transplant.”
My husband stared at her.
Anna continued.
“Years ago, your father started testing women who married into the family.”
I felt nauseated.
“The brides?”
“Yes.”
“For compatibility?”
“Yes.”
My husband shook his head violently.
“No. That’s insane.”
“I thought so too.”
Anna handed him another page.
A list of names.
Women.
Dates.
Blood types.
Medical notes.
At the bottom was Anna’s name.
Beside it:
NOT SUITABLE.
And beneath hers was another name.
Mine.
I stared at the paper.
My full name.
My date of birth.
My blood type.
Beside it were two words.
POTENTIAL MATCH.
I couldn’t breathe.
“How did they get my blood?”
My husband looked horrified.
Then I remembered.
Three months before the wedding, his father had insisted everyone in the family complete a “premarital health screening.”
I’d thought it was strange.
My husband told me his family was simply traditional.
They had taken three tubes of my blood.
I looked at him.
“You knew about the screening.”
“I didn’t know this was why.”
Anna whispered:
“That’s why he wanted tonight to happen.”
I stared at her.
“The blessing?”
“There is no blessing.”
My stomach turned.
“The drink?”
“Probably something to sedate you.”
“And downstairs?”
Anna nodded.
“That’s where the private medical room used to be.”
My husband looked sick.
“My father was going to drug my wife?”
Anna looked at him.
“And test her again.”
“Why tonight?”
“Because if she was confirmed as a match, your father needed her somewhere she couldn’t easily refuse.”
I felt ice move through me.
“He was going to take something from me?”
Anna didn’t answer.
She didn’t need to.
My husband slammed the elevator button.
“We’re calling the police.”
Anna grabbed his wrist.
“I already did.”
He stared at her.
“What?”
“Before I came upstairs.”
For the first time that night, I felt relief.
Then Anna said:
“But there’s a problem.”
Of course there was.
“What?”
“The basement room is empty.”
My husband frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“I checked before coming upstairs.”
“The equipment?”
“Gone.”
“Medical records?”
“Gone.”
“His mother?”
“Gone.”
My husband whispered:
“Then where is she?”
Anna looked toward the elevator display.
We were still stopped between floors.
“I don’t know.”
Then something struck the roof of the elevator.
BANG.
All three of us looked up.
Another sound.
BANG.
Someone was above us.
My husband immediately restarted the elevator.
The car began descending.
Then the lights went out.
Anna whispered:
“No.”
“What?”
She stared upward.
“This happened last time.”
The elevator stopped.
The emergency light came on.
Then the intercom crackled.
My father-in-law’s voice filled the elevator.
“You should have stayed in the room.”
My husband rushed toward the panel.
“Dad!”
No answer.
“DAD!”
Then another voice came through.
A woman’s voice.
Weak.
Older.
My husband froze.
The woman said his childhood nickname.
A name nobody outside his immediate family used.
His face went completely white.
“Mom?”
The voice began crying.
“My baby.”
My husband sank against the wall.
“My mother is alive.”
Then she said something else.
Something none of us expected.
“Don’t believe your father.”
My husband pressed the intercom.
“Mom, where are you?”
“Downstairs.”
“We’re coming.”
“No!”
Her scream filled the elevator.
“Don’t come down here.”
“Why?”
She began sobbing.
“Because I’m not the person he needs the bride for.”
Silence.
I looked at Anna.
Anna looked equally confused.
My husband whispered:
“What does that mean?”
His mother answered:
“He told you the women were being tested for me.”
My blood ran cold.
“Yes.”
“He lied.”
My father-in-law suddenly shouted somewhere in the background.
Then there was a struggle.
My husband screamed into the intercom.
“Mom!”
Her voice returned for only a few seconds.
“Your father isn’t trying to save me.”
“Then who?”
She began crying.
“Your brother.”
My husband stared at the speaker.
“I don’t have a brother.”
“Yes, you do.”
The elevator suddenly began descending again.
Basement.
My husband repeatedly pressed the stop button.
Nothing happened.
His mother spoke one final time.
“He was born before you.”
The display changed.
B2.
“He’s been sick his entire life.”
B3.
“And your father has spent thirty years looking for someone who can save him.”
The elevator slowed.
Anna grabbed my hand.
The doors began opening.
Beyond them was not a hotel basement.
It was a brightly lit medical corridor.
My father-in-law stood at the far end.
Beside him was a hospital bed.
A thin man lay beneath the blankets.
He looked toward us.
My husband stopped breathing.
Because the sick man had his eyes.
His nose.
His face.
Older, thinner—
but unmistakably family.
My husband whispered:
“Who is that?”
His father answered calmly.
“Your brother.”
Then the man in the bed looked past my husband.
Directly at me.
And smiled.
My father-in-law said:
“We’ve waited twenty-seven years for someone like your wife.”
I backed into the elevator.
“No.”
My husband stepped in front of me.
“You’re not touching her.”
His father sighed.
“You still don’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
The sick brother slowly lifted his hand.
There was a photograph between his fingers.
He held it toward us.
It was a picture of me.
Not from the wedding.
Not from our relationship.
I was about six years old.
Standing outside my childhood home.
My hands began shaking.
“How do you have that?”
My father-in-law smiled.
“Because we didn’t start looking for you when my son met you.”
I stared at him.
“We found you twenty years ago.”
The elevator doors began closing behind us.
My husband turned to me.
Anna covered her mouth.
And my father-in-law delivered the sentence that made me realize our marriage might never have been an accident.
“Your husband didn’t find you.”
He looked at his son.
“We chose you for him.”
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