That afternoon, my phone rang while I was folding his shirts. The number was not saved.

“Is this Patricia’s daughter-in-law?”

“Yes, who is this?”

“This is Dr. Hensley. I’ve been trying to reach Michael for hours. His phone goes straight to voicemail. Your number was listed as Patricia’s secondary emergency contact.”

My fingers froze on the collar in my hand. “What’s happening? Is Patricia all right?”

“Her condition has worsened significantly. You need to come now. And ma’am, there are some things we need to discuss when you arrive. Things about her care.”

“What things?”

“Please. Just come.”

I grabbed my keys, purse, and coat all at once.

As I drove down the highway toward a hospital I had not seen in a month, I realized I had no idea what had really been happening inside those walls. And I was about to find out alone.

My tires screeched into the hospital parking lot before I even remembered leaving the highway.

I ran through the sliding doors, past the front desk, past a janitor holding a mop, my coat slipping from one shoulder.

Before I reached the elevator, a nurse stepped directly in front of me. She was small, gray at the temples, and she pushed a folded note into my palm.

“I’m the one who called you,” she whispered. “Read this immediately. Your husband is lying to you.”

At first, my fingers would not work.

Inside, the note read: “Go to Room 120. I’ll show you the security camera footage. Please stay calm and don’t tell anyone.”

I followed her down a side hallway. She unlocked a small office and motioned for me to sit.

A monitor flickered on in front of me.

“I need you to understand something before I press play,” she said. “What I’m about to show you, I should have shown you weeks ago. Hospital administration finally allowed me to copy the footage after Patricia filed a complaint.”