Chapter 2 - Shadows in the Hospital Room
The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor was the only sound cutting through the sterile quiet of St. Anne’s Hospital room 412. Outside, the autumn rain beat a relentless tattoo against the windowpane, mirroring the cold fury pounding inside my chest. I sat propped up in a hospital bed, my left arm encased in heavy white fiberglass plaster, my ribs bound by a tight medical corset that made every inhalation feel like breathing shards of glass.
The door clicked open, and Evan stepped inside. He wore his expensive tailored charcoal suit, his dark hair styled to perfection, holding a bouquet of overly expensive white lilies that smelled sickeningly sweet. He looked like the picture of a devoted husband visiting his ailing wife, a facade he had worn publicly for five years.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Evan asked, his voice dripping with an insincere honeyed warmth that made my stomach churn. He placed the flowers carelessly on the side table, not even bothering to look for a vase.
“Like I was pushed down a flight of concrete stairs by your mother,” I replied coldly, my eyes locked onto his.
Evan’s jaw tightened for a fraction of a second before he smoothed his expression back into one of patient exasperation. “Claire, honey, we talked about this. You lost your footing. The doctor’s report says accidental fall due to vertigo or exhaustion. Why must you always make things so difficult? Mom is beside herself with worry.”
“Worry that I didn’t die?” I spat out, my voice raspy.
Evan stepped closer to the bed, lowering his voice into a sharp, threatening hiss. “Watch your tone, Claire. You’re in no position to play detective or victim. The divorce papers have been filed. You’ll sign the settlement agreement giving up any claim to the lake house, and in exchange, I won’t contest your ability to pay your own medical bills out of your savings. Consider it a mercy.”
Before I could answer, the door swung open wide, and Tasha Greene walked in carrying a tray of fresh medical charts. Tasha’s sharp eyes darted between Evan and me, reading the palpable tension in the room like an open book.
“Visiting hours are officially over, Mr. Mercer,” Tasha said, her voice professional yet unmistakably firm. “Mrs. Mercer needs rest, not stress.”
Evan straightened his tie, offering Tasha a charming, disarming smile that worked on everyone except those who knew the monster beneath. “Of course, nurse. I was just leaving. My poor wife has always had an overactive imagination.”
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As Evan turned and walked out, Tasha leaned over my bed and whispered under her breath, “I saved the digital backups of the trauma photographs, Claire. And Naomi Price is waiting for your signal downstairs. She brought security.”
I looked up at Tasha, a grim, calculated smile touching the corners of my bruised lips. The trap was set, and Evan was walking right into it.
