Chapter 3

The hospital waiting room was a sterile, white box smelling of antiseptic and anxiety. Chloe's parents were already there, their faces etched with a mixture of fear and fury. Her father, a real estate mogul from Boca Raton, paced like a caged animal. Her mother, draped in gold jewelry and indignation, sat stiffly on a vinyl chair.

The moment she saw me, she was on her feet.

"You!" she hissed, her voice dripping with venom.

Before I could react, her hand shot out and slapped me across the face. The crack echoed in the quiet room.

"This is your fault! You did this to her! My baby!" she shrieked, tears of rage streaming down her perfectly made-up face. "You're too rough with her! You neglect her! What kind of husband are you?"

Heads turned. A nurse looked over with alarm. I just stood there, the sting on my cheek a dull throb compared to the hollow ache in my chest.

"Ma'am, you need to calm down," a large security guard said, stepping between us.

"He hurt my daughter!" she sobbed, pointing a trembling, manicured finger at me. "He's an animal!"

Her husband put a restraining arm on her shoulder, murmuring something about causing a scene. He looked at me with pure contempt, as if I were something he'd scraped off his shoe.

Just then, the ER doctor came through the double doors, a clipboard in her hand. She was a no-nonsense woman in her forties.

"Mr. and Mrs. Dubois?" she said, addressing Chloe's parents. "And you must be Leo."

Chloe's mother immediately launched into her tirade again. "Doctor, you need to have him arrested! He's abusive! Look what he did to our Chloe!"

The doctor held up a hand, her expression unreadable. "Ma'am, I've spoken to your daughter. And I've spoken to the man who brought her in."

She paused, letting her words sink in.

"The man who brought her in, a Mr. Kyle Thompson, admitted that the injury likely occurred during... 'strenuous physical activity' they were engaged in at their hotel."

The silence that followed was absolute. Chloe's mother froze, her mouth slightly agape. Her father's face went from red to a pasty white. The accusation, the public shame, the slap-it all hung in the air, a monument to their own delusion.

The doctor's gaze flicked to me, a flicker of understanding, maybe even pity, in her eyes.

"She's stable now. We're moving her to a private room. You can see her in a little while."

As the doctor walked away, Chloe's mother sank back into her chair, her face a crumpled mess of mortification. Her father couldn't even look at me. The truth, delivered by a calm, authoritative third party, had shattered their perfect, blame-filled narrative. They had just publicly accused the wrong man.