Chapter 1 - THE DOOR OPENS
Caleb’s fingers dug into my wrist as he tried to drag me out of a hospital bed with both legs encased in plaster.
“Stop!”
The word came out broken.
Everything hurt.
My right ribs had been fractured.
My left wrist was badly sprained.
Both lower legs had required surgery after what everyone kept calling my accident.
The right leg was worse.
Tibia and fibula.
The left ankle had shattered badly enough that the orthopedic surgeon warned me recovery would be measured in months, not weeks.
And my husband was pulling anyway.
“Get up.”
“Caleb—”
“I said get up.”
My body shifted two inches.
Pain tore through me so violently that my vision flashed white.
The heart monitor changed rhythm.
Fast.
Sharp.
A nurse’s voice came through the speaker.
“Rebecca?”
Caleb looked toward the wall.
Then back at me.
“Answer normally.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Tell them you moved.”
The door remained closed.
My hand slid beneath the sheet.
“Rebecca?”
Caleb’s grip tightened.
“You don’t need all this.”
His voice dropped.
“They’re keeping you here because every extra day makes them money.”
That sentence would matter later.
At the time, it only sounded cruel.
“My legs are broken.”
“You’re stable.”
“My ribs—”
“Bruised.”
“Broken.”
“Whatever.”
I looked at the man I had been married to for eleven years.
Caleb Morgan.
Thirty-eight.
Owner of Morgan Residential Construction.
Good teeth.
Good suits when he needed them.
A smile my mother once called reassuring.
Now he looked furious because I was attached to an IV.
“You cannot pull me out of here.”
“Yes, I can.”
“No.”
“I’m your husband.”
“So?”
The word stopped him for half a second.
Then his face hardened.
“I’m trying to get you somewhere you’ll actually recover.”
“Where?”
“Private rehab.”
“I said no yesterday.”
“Because these people are getting into your head.”
“There are screws in my ankle, Caleb.”
“That has nothing to do with your head.”
I pressed the emergency call button beneath the sheet.
He saw.
Too late.
“What did you do?”
The alarm sounded.
Caleb ripped the blanket away completely.
“Get out of bed.”
“My leg is broken, you bastard!”
He grabbed my forearm.
Pulled.
I screamed.
Not controlled.
Not dignified.
A raw sound that cut through the room.
My ribs twisted.
Pain radiated beneath the casts.
“Someone please save me!”
Caleb swore.
“You’re making this worse.”
He raised his hand.
I saw it.
Had time to turn my face slightly.
The slap struck my mouth.
My lip split against my tooth.
Metallic taste.
I stared at him.
Caleb looked almost surprised by what he had done.
Then angry again because surprise meant losing control.
“Please.”
My voice trembled.
He leaned closer.
“Then stop fighting.”
I had not meant please for him.
The monitor alarm became louder.
Footsteps filled the hallway.
Caleb pulled again.
The door opened.
White light flooded the floor.
Charge nurse Clara Bennett entered first.
Behind her were two hospital security officers.
Then a woman in a dark blazer I had seen once earlier that morning.
Maya Chen.
Trauma social worker.
Clara’s expression changed when she saw my mouth.
“Step away from the patient.”
Caleb released me.
“This is a misunderstanding.”
One security officer moved between us.
“Sir, step toward the door.”
“My wife is being held here against our wishes.”
I gasped:
“My wishes.”
Caleb looked at me.
That look.
Warning.
Maya saw it.
She stepped closer to the bed.
“Rebecca, do you want him in this room?”
“No.”
The answer came before fear could stop it.
Caleb stared.
“Becca.”
“No.”
One security officer touched his elbow.
“Let’s go.”
“Don’t touch me.”
“Then walk.”
Caleb looked from them to me.
Then toward the open hallway.
Someone else stood there.
A woman with short dark hair.
Plain clothes.
Badge clipped at her waist.
I did not know her yet.
Caleb did.
The color left his face.
He whispered:
“Why is she here?”
The woman answered:
May you like
“Mr. Morgan, I think we should talk about your wife’s fall.”
And for the first time since I woke after surgery, I understood that somebody besides me had begun doubting his story.
