My son, Adrian, had been married to Isolde for just a week when I first noticed her unusual habits. Their wedding had been simple, in a small parish outside Portsmouth, but it was filled with warmth. The guests clapped, sang, and cried when they exchanged vows, and I remember telling myself that my son had chosen a woman who would bring light into his days.

She was everything a mother could hope for—kind, respectful, always smiling, eager to help even with the smallest chores. My neighbors whispered to me at the market, “You are lucky. Not every family welcomes such a daughter-in-law.” And I would beam with pride.

But only a few days into their married life, something unsettled me. Every morning, without fail, Isolde stripped the bed. Sheets, blankets, pillowcases—everything went outside to be washed and dried in the sun. Sometimes she even changed them again by evening.

One afternoon I finally asked, as we sat shelling peas,

“Isolde, my dear, why do you change the bedding so often? The linens are new. Do you really need to?”

She gave me a gentle smile.

“Oh, Mother,” she said softly, “I’ve always been sensitive to dust. Fresh sheets help me rest better.”

Her words sounded innocent enough, but something about them didn’t sit right. No one in Adrian’s family had ever suffered such an allergy. Still, she said it so calmly that I forced myself to let the matter rest—at least for a while.

A few mornings later, I pretended I was leaving for the grocer’s, but instead I waited until she was in the kitchen and quietly crept upstairs. The moment I opened the door, a metallic smell struck me. My stomach tightened. I went to the bed, lifted the sheet with trembling hands, and froze.

The mattress was covered in dark stains, layered and heavy, far too much to be explained away. My breath caught. With shaking fingers I opened a drawer. Inside were rolls of bandages, a half-empty bottle of antiseptic, and a shirt stiff with dried blood.

When I went back down, I grabbed her hand before I could think twice.

“Isolde,” I demanded, pulling her upstairs, “what is the meaning of this? Why so much blood? What are you hiding from me?”