My husband wants a divorce, but I'm dying

I shoved the phone into my pocket and drove straight to the Plaza Hotel. The engagement party from the live stream was still in full swing. I needed to look Colton in the eye. I needed to know if my husband had been slipping foxglove into my tea for years.

I pulled my phone back out in the lobby, typing a frantic message to Dr. Evans. *Send the toxicology report to my email. I need a copy right now.*

A hand clamped over my wrist. Long, red fingernails dug into my skin.

Opal plucked the phone from my grip.

"Give that back," I demanded, lunging forward.

She sidestepped, her thumb swiping across the screen. "Dr. Evans? Are we feeling unwell, Sabrina?"

"That is none of your business."

"Everything regarding Colton is my business now." Opal read the screen, her lips curling into a smirk. "Toxicology reports? Looking for a second opinion to guilt him into staying? Don't bother."

"I said give it to me."

Opal tapped the delete button. She dropped my phone onto a silver tray held by a passing waiter. "He doesn't need his ex-wife playing the sick card to ruin our night."

"I'm not playing a card. I need my medical records."

"You need to leave." She leaned in, her perfume thick and overpowering. "I intercepted your little tragedy act before you could embarrass him. You always were too desperate. Seven years playing nurse, and you still couldn't make him love you."

"I kept him alive."

"And I gave him a reason to live. There's a difference." She patted my cheek. "Do us all a favor and disappear quietly."

A microphone screeched in the ballroom.

"If I could have everyone's attention," Colton announced.

I pushed past Opal and stood in the doorway. Colton stood on a raised platform, a crystal glass in one hand. His cheeks were flushed with expensive champagne and victory.

"For seven years, I was trapped in the dark," he told the crowd. "I was told I might never walk again. Never live a normal life."

Guests clapped respectfully.

"But I fought. I fought because I knew the light was waiting for me." He extended a hand toward the wings. "Exactly one month from today, we will host the wedding of the century. Opal and I are finally making it official."

Opal glided past me, joining him on stage. She raised her left hand, letting the chandelier catch the massive diamond.

"He never gave up on me," she told the cheering room. "People whispered. They said he moved on. But he knew I was the only one he truly wanted. True love waits."

I scanned the faces of the guests. The mayor. The hospital board members. The people who watched me push Colton’s wheelchair through the park every Sunday. None of them met my gaze. They just clapped for the woman who abandoned him.

I waited by the private bar until the crowd dispersed. Colton leaned against the marble counter, downing his third whiskey.

"Did you put it in my food?" I asked, stopping two feet away.

He blinked, his eyes unfocused. "Put what?"

"Foxglove. Digitalis. Did you poison me, Colton?"

He rolled his eyes. "Are you insane? I gave you two million dollars. I didn't give you poison."

"Then who did? Someone has been destroying my heart for months."

"Nobody poisoned you, Sabrina. You're just desperate for attention." He slammed the empty glass down. "Sign the papers and leave before I have security throw you out."

"If you loved her so much, why did you marry me?" I asked. My fingers curled into fists. "Why not just pay me off when you woke up? Why make me your wife?"

Colton let out a harsh, mocking laugh. He stumbled forward, his liquor-soaked breath fanning my face.

"You really don't know?"

"Know what?"

"Look in a mirror." He pointed a finger at my face. "You were twenty-two. You had that same auburn hair. Those same green eyes. You were a carbon copy of Opal."

My jaw tightened. "What?"

"Opal left me. I was angry. But when I opened my eyes, there you were. A younger, naive version of the woman I actually wanted." He shrugged, a careless gesture that shattered my remaining dignity. "You were a convenient stand-in. A ghost to keep my bed warm until the real thing came back."

I didn't cry. I didn't scream.

Instead, a hollow laugh tore out of my throat.

Seven years. I emptied bedpans. I fought with insurance companies. I sacrificed my youth for a man who only saw another woman's face when he looked at me.

"You're a monster," I whispered.

"I'm a man who finally got his real girl back," he countered. "You were just the understudy, Sabrina. The show is over."

I turned and ran.

I burst through the glass doors into the night. A torrential downpour had started, washing over the city streets. Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the empty valet stand.

I made it halfway across the cobblestone driveway before the pain hit.

It wasn't a dull ache this time. It felt like a hot knife twisting directly into my chest, slicing through muscle and bone.

I gasped, clutching my shirt. My knees buckled.

The wet stone scraped my palms as I collapsed. Rain plastered my hair to my face. I struggled to drag air into my lungs, but my chest refused to expand.

A group of guests exited the hotel, laughing under large umbrellas.

"Help," I rasped, reaching a trembling hand out.

A woman in a sequined gown paused, glancing down at me. She nudged her companion. "Look at her. Completely wasted."

"Pathetic," the man agreed. "This is why Colton is leaving her. She's a mess."

They stepped around me and kept walking.

My vision blurred at the edges. The poison. The stress. The heartbreak. Dr. Evans said six months, but my body was quitting right now. I pressed my cheek against the freezing cobblestone, listening to the erratic, failing rhythm of my own heart.

Headlights cut through the darkness, blinding me.

A sleek, black Maybach rolled to a stop inches from where I lay on the ground.

The engine purred, a low, powerful hum against the drumming rain. Water washed over the polished hood.

The rear passenger window lowered smoothly.

I forced my heavy eyelids open.

A man sat in the shadows of the backseat. I couldn't see his features clearly, only the sharp line of his jaw and the cold, unyielding intensity of his gaze. He wore a dark suit, immaculate and intimidating.

He stared down at me, completely still.

"Please," I whispered, the word barely audible over the storm.

He didn't open the door. He didn't call for help.

He just watched me fade away.

My head hit the pavement, and the world went completely black. Who was he?