He hesitated briefly before adding, “Then we can finally start over.”
I lay there, fully aware yet utterly trapped, listening as the people I trusted dismantled my life piece by piece while believing I was too weak to notice.
Morning arrived without mercy. Light flooded the room, and the fog in my head began to thin. The machines continued their steady beeping, indifferent to my thoughts. When I turned my head slightly, I realized the chair beside my bed was empty. Raymond was gone. So was his mother.
My phone lay on the bedside table, placed there deliberately, screen facing down. A nurse entered and informed me that my husband had stopped by early, signed the necessary paperwork, and arranged for me to be discharged later that day. Her voice carried no suspicion, only routine professionalism.
As soon as she left, a tight knot formed in my chest. I reached for the phone with trembling hands and unlocked the screen. Before I even opened the application, dread settled into my stomach.