I stared at it for a long moment. Then I slipped it off.
"This one is fake, isn't it?"
Miles's eyes darted away. He stumbled over his words.
"When we get married, I'll give you the real one."
"The one Stacy's wearing—my mother forced it on her. There was nothing I could do."
Before I could refuse, he grabbed my arm and pulled me into the car.
"Hospital first. We'll talk about everything else later."
I sat in the passenger seat, every part of me resisting.
But I knew I couldn't gamble with my own body.
At the hospital, X-rays, examinations, one procedure after another—by the end, I didn't even have the strength to lift my arm.
The doctor returned with the films.
"Two broken ribs. Multiple soft tissue contusions. You'll need to stay for observation."
Miles took the X-rays, his brow furrowing. When he turned to me, guilt crept into his voice.
"Marilyn, I'm sorry. I let you suffer like this. I'll make it up to you—I promise."
The words had barely left his mouth when his phone rang.
He glanced at the screen, and his expression shifted instantly. He answered in a rush.
"Stacy? What's wrong?"
Her voice came through the line, broken and tearful.