It started like any other Saturday visit to my in-laws’ house — or so I thought. The house, usually filled with the sounds of my mother-in-law Sharon’s laughter and the smell of Frank’s homemade barbecue, was strangely quiet when I arrived alone. Bryce, my husband, had called earlier to say he was stuck at work, so I decided to surprise Sharon with some homemade cookies. But when I got to the door, there were no cheerful greetings waiting for me. The front door was locked, the lights were off, and everything felt… wrong.

I knocked, hoping to catch Sharon inside, but there was no response. I texted Frank, just to check if they were out together, and his message came back almost instantly: “Out with the guys. Sharon’s resting. You can head home if you want.”

Resting? Sharon never rested during the day. She was always the first one to jump up and make you feel welcome. My stomach twisted with unease. Something was off. I pushed the door open, balancing the plate of cookies in one hand and called out, “Sharon? It’s me, Ruth! I brought something for you!”

The silence was unnerving. I called again, walking through the house. “Sharon? Are you here?” My voice echoed through the empty rooms.

Then I heard it. A faint, rhythmic tapping. It came from upstairs. My heart began to race as I followed the sound to the attic door. I froze. The attic was always off-limits, and Frank made it clear—no one went in there. But today, the key was in the lock. Something inside me screamed that I shouldn’t open it, but I couldn’t ignore the sound.

“Sharon?” I called, my voice barely a whisper.

The tapping stopped, but I didn’t get an answer. Trembling, I turned the key and slowly pushed the door open. What I saw in the dim light took my breath away.

There she was. Sharon, sitting on an old wooden chair in the attic, her face pale and drawn. She looked like she hadn’t moved in hours. Her usual warmth was gone. She looked up at me, startled. “Ruth,” she whispered, almost like she didn’t believe I was really there. “You’re here.”

I rushed to her side, setting the cookies aside and helping her up. “Sharon, what’s going on? Why are you up here?”

Her eyes flicked toward the door, and she spoke in a quiet, shaky voice. “Frank… locked me in here,” she murmured.

I stared at her, confused. “What do you mean, locked you in here?”

“I reorganized his man cave while he was out,” she explained, her hands wringing together. “I thought I’d surprise him, but when he came home, he went crazy. He said if I liked messing with his things so much, I could spend time up here with them.”

Sharon let out a weak laugh, but there was no real humor in it. “He locked me in. Told me to think about what I’d done.”

I couldn’t believe it. “Sharon, that’s insane!” I said, my voice rising in disbelief. “You’re his wife. He can’t just lock you up like that. What kind of man does that?”

She looked away, her hands nervously twisting in her lap. “It wasn’t like that. He was just angry. You know how he gets.”