Divorced in the ICU Claimed by the Medical Tyrant

"Sign the release form, Clara." Liam tossed a cheap plastic pen onto my meal tray.

"It's been three days." I stared at the pen. "The doctors told me to stay for a week."

"The insurance maxed out." He checked his gold wristwatch. "We need the funds for Leo’s recovery."

"You make seven figures a year, Liam."

"And Leo requires round-the-clock care. Stop being difficult."

"I can't walk without my spine spasming."

"Take a cab." He dropped a thin, beige windbreaker on my lap. "I have a board meeting."

"You're leaving me here?"

A young nurse stepped into the room, holding a clipboard. "Mr. Miller, her marrow levels are still dangerously low. We strongly advise against this."

"Print the paperwork," Liam ordered.

"She at least needs a wheelchair down to the lobby," the nurse insisted.

"She has legs." Liam adjusted his tie. "I don't have time for a tantrum."

"Liam, stop," I said. "I am in agony."

"Pain is part of the process. Leo is in pain every day. Do you hear him complaining?"

"He is five years old."

"Exactly. Act like an adult." He turned his back and walked out the door.

The taxi smelled like stale smoke and pine air freshener. Every pothole sent a fresh wave of fire shooting up my lower back.

"Rough day at the hospital?" the driver asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.

"Just take me to Elm Avenue," I muttered.

"You got blood on your shirt, lady."

I looked down. The IV site I had ripped out three days ago had reopened. A fresh red stain blossomed on the pale blue cotton of my hospital top.

"Keep your eyes on the road," I said.

"Don't bleed on my seats. I just detailed this car."

We pulled up to the wrought-iron gates of my neighborhood.

"That's forty-two dollars." The driver tapped the meter.

I stared at the dashboard. "I don't have my wallet. My husband was supposed to pick me up."

"Get out and get the cash, then. I'll run the meter."

"I can't walk very fast."

The driver spun around, glaring at my pale face. "Look, lady. Pay me now or I call the cops."

I reached for my ears. I unhooked my diamond studs and dropped them into his outstretched palm. "Keep it."

He grunted and popped the locks.

I pushed the door open. A brutal spasm ripped through my lower back. My legs gave out instantly.

I hit the concrete driveway hard.

The cab sped away, kicking exhaust into my face.

Early spring wind sliced through the thin windbreaker. I shivered. My knees trembled violently against the freezing pavement.

I grabbed the stone pillar and hauled myself upright.

I limped toward the front door of the villa.

My freezing fingers punched the numbers on the electronic keypad.

*0-9-1-4.* Our anniversary.

A shrill alarm beeped.

"Passcode error," the automated voice announced.

I pressed the keys harder. *0-9-1-4.*

"Passcode error."

I tried Leo's birthday. *0-5-1-2.*

"Passcode error."

I hit the intercom button. "Liam? It's me. Open the door."

Static answered.

"Liam, let me in. It's freezing."

I backed away from the porch. That was when I noticed the grass.

My favorite silk blouses lay scattered across the muddy lawn. A pair of my jeans hung off the front hedges.

"Hey!"

I turned. Mrs. Gable stood on her side of the property line, clutching a garden hose.

"Clara? Is that you?" she asked, squinting through the morning fog.

"Yes." I wrapped the thin coat tighter around my chest.

"I thought you were a trespasser. Tell your husband to stop throwing trash in the yard. It's an eyesore."

"Trash?"

"He had a whole crew in there yesterday," she complained. "Changing the locks. Throwing out boxes. I thought you two were remodeling."

"We aren't."

"Well, whoever that new girl is, she plays her music too loud at night."

My jaw tightened. "I'll handle it, Mrs. Gable."

She shook her head and marched back into her house.

I looked down at my feet. A crushed silver picture frame rested in the dirt.

Fire erupted in my spine as I forced myself into a crouch. My muscles screamed in protest.

The photograph inside was torn in half. My face was missing. Only Liam and Leo smiled back at me through the shattered glass.

I reached for the torn edge of the photo.

A jagged piece of glass sliced deep into my index finger.

I didn't pull away.

Thick, dark blood welled up from the cut. It flowed over my nail and dripped onto the smiling faces of my husband and son.

My pupils shrank. The bright red drops looked exactly like my blood on the hospital sheets.

I pinched the sharpest, bloodiest shard between my fingers.

I slid the glass deep into my coat pocket.

A heavy metallic clank echoed from the porch.

The carved mahogany door swung open.

Warm air drifted out, carrying the scent of roasted coffee and expensive perfume.

"What are you doing in the dirt?"

I tilted my head up.

Chloe stood at the top of the stone steps.

She wore my emerald silk nightgown. The lace trim slipped carelessly off her left shoulder, exposing a fresh, purple bruise on her collarbone.

She held my favorite ceramic mug with both hands.

"Did you really take a cab in that outfit?" she asked. "You look like a beggar, Clara."

"Take off my clothes, Chloe."

"Liam prefers them on me. He says green brings out my eyes."

"Get out of my house."

"Your house?" Chloe smiled, taking a slow sip of her coffee. "Liam said you wouldn't be discharged until tonight."