Call Me Nuts

I'm due for a promotion when I stumble upon my husband entangled with his childhood sweetheart. After that, I'm secretly admitted to a psychiatric facility.

I repeatedly tell the doctors that I'm fine, but all I get is worse abuse and humiliation.

When Howard Armstrong visits me every month, I beg him to get me out. Each time, he says, "This is a proper establishment, so you have to follow the doctor's instructions. Don't be unreasonable!"

On the day I'm discharged, he speaks to me tenderly and calls me his honey.

Later, when I place a divorce agreement before him, he breaks down in tears.

The psychiatric facility informed me I could finally be discharged. Howard Armstrong still hadn't shown up, but his secretary, Alex Freeman, was busy handling all the paperwork for my release.

I trailed behind Alex, taking one step at a time. Alex was clearly getting impatient, urging me several times to hurry up.

I plastered a smile on my face and explained that my muscles had atrophied from all the time I spent in recovery.

"Muscle atrophy. It must be a disease caused by idleness," he muttered under his breath.

Before I could say anything, I heard a sweet, whiny voice at the door. It was Phoebe Lawson, Howard's childhood friend.

"Howie, I've already accompanied you here twice this month! You used to only come here once a month. I had to skip work to be here with you, so you'd better make it up to me later!"

I realized that she always tagged along during his regular visits.

Howard chuckled as he opened the door. "What? Don't you like coming to the psychiatric facility?" But the second he saw me and Alex, he froze.

Before, I would've marched right up to him and made a scene. I would've demanded to know what the hell he meant by that. But ever since I came to the psychiatric facility, every single visit from him ended with more abuse and bullying.

The memory of those electric shocks still made my body seize up. I couldn't move. My feet felt like they were bolted to the floor.

Howard stood there awkwardly. Phoebe tugged on his sleeve with a glint in her eyes.

"Howie, didn't Yvette always tell you how terrible things were in here when you visited her? But look at her now… she looks totally fine to me."

Phoebe eyed me up and down with the same cold look my doctor always gave me. Memories of the abuse crashed over me, and I instinctively took a few steps back and tried to hide behind Alex, trembling.

Howard's awkwardness vanished the moment he saw me flinch like he'd just found something to use against me.

He sighed dramatically and, with a tone that sounded more like charity than concern, said, "That's enough, Yvette. Drop the act already. Phoebe was kind enough to come with me to get you. Let's go home."

I stayed silent, hunched and small, like a frightened bird.

Howard scowled, clearly disgusted. "What the hell happened to you? Why are you acting like this?"

Phoebe chimed in, "Yeah, Yvette. Howie's been doing all this for your own good. He just wants you to get better. Are you putting on this act to make him feel guilty?"

Then, she took a few steps forward and asked, "Were you really abused? Or were you just lying to get Howie's attention?"

I looked at her—at that face that looked just like my doctor—and I couldn't speak. I just kept backing away, doing my best to hide from her gaze.

Howard grabbed me by the arm and yanked me aside. "You're impossible, Yvette! You're playing these little games just because you're jealous of Phoebe!

"I guess you haven't had enough of the psychiatric facility yet. Pheebs, don't waste your time on her; she won't appreciate it anyway!"

He turned around, took Phoebe's hand, and stormed away. Before he left, he barked one last order at Alex, "If she wants to leave, take her. If not, send her back in!"