“That answer is exactly why you are not turning this hospital room into an office.”
I pushed myself upward.
Pain tore through my side.
Priya immediately stepped toward me.
“Stop.”
“I have to—”
“No,” she said firmly. “You have to breathe.”
I hated her for approximately three seconds.
Then I obeyed.
She adjusted the bed.
When the pain eased, she looked at me with a patience that felt almost stern.
“You will be much less useful to everyone if you worsen your condition.”
That sounded like something I could understand.
Usefulness.
I nodded.
Liam held out his hand.
“What?”
“The number.”
“To Halden?”
“Yes.”
“You just said—”
“I’ll call.”
“You don’t know what to ask.”
His eyebrow lifted.
“I run an emergency department. I can probably manage the sentence, ‘Please preserve all records and contact law enforcement if you have concerns about immediate safety.’”
Despite myself, I laughed.
The laugh hurt.
It was worth it.
I gave him the number.
He stepped into the hall.
For the first time since waking, I was alone.
Not truly alone.
There were nurses beyond the wall.
Security at the unit entrance.
Priya somewhere nearby.
But no Ethan.
No Liam.
No detective.
Just me.
The silence was enormous.
I looked at my hands.
My wedding ring was gone.
For a panicked moment, I thought Ethan had taken it.
Then I saw a small plastic belongings bag on the counter.
My ring lay inside with a pair of earrings and the thin gold chain I always wore.
I stared at it.
The diamond had belonged to Ethan’s grandmother.
His mother gave it to him when we became engaged.
I remembered how nervous he had seemed the night he proposed.
We were in my father’s backyard.
Dad was still alive then.
Liam had flown in unexpectedly.
There were paper lanterns in the trees and too many bottles of wine on the patio.
Ethan knelt in damp grass.
His hands shook.
Everyone cried.
I did too.
There had been no warning hidden in that moment.
No secret shadow that I had ignored.
That was the part people often misunderstood.
I had not married a man who struck me.
I had married a man who remembered the exact date of my mother’s death because he knew I would be sad before I admitted it.
A man who drove four hours to bring my father his favorite soup during chemotherapy.
A man who once sat on our kitchen floor with me until dawn because I couldn’t stop crying after Dad died.
The first shove came eighteen months later.
By then, those earlier memories had become evidence too.
Evidence for the defense.
See?
He loves me.
See?
This isn’t who he is.
See?
I know him.
I touched the clear bag.
My finger stopped above the ring.
The door opened.
I pulled my hand away.
Liam came in slowly.
Something in his face had changed.
“What happened?”
He shut the door.
“Halden answered.”
“At this hour?”
“They have an after-hours line.”
“I know. Who did you speak to?”
“A man named Aaron Bell.”
My confusion must have shown.
“I don’t know him.”
“He said he’s Halden’s managing director.”
“Claire handles my case.”
“Claire Donnelly?”
“Yes.”
Liam dragged the chair closer.
“Maya, Claire Donnelly hasn’t worked there for three weeks.”
The air seemed to thin.
