Chapter 2

The next day, I came back armed with proof. I held our marriage certificate in a crisp manila folder. My hands were shaking as I walked down the same sterile hallway. I thought if he could just see it, see the official document with both our names, something would click.

I pushed the door open to his room. The scene was almost identical to the day before. Chloe was there, peeling an apple for him, her movements graceful and practiced. The sunlight from the window caught her hair, making her look like an angel of mercy. It made me sick.

"I' m back," I announced, my voice firmer than I felt.

David looked up, his expression immediately hardening. Chloe placed the half-peeled apple on the tray and stood up, positioning herself slightly in front of him, a human shield.

"I told you to leave her alone," David said to me, his voice low and threatening.

"I' m not here to cause trouble," I said, holding up the folder. "I just wanted to show you this. Maybe it will help you remember."

I walked toward the bed and took out the certificate. "Look, David. This is our marriage license. See? David Thompson and Sarah Miller. We were married ten years ago."

He glanced at the paper, then pushed it away with the back of his hand. "That doesn' t prove anything. It could be fake."

"Fake?" My voice rose in disbelief. "Why would I fake a marriage certificate?"

"I don' t know, for money?" Chloe suggested softly, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "David is a very successful man. People try to take advantage."

The accusation hit me hard. I turned on her. "You stay out of this. This is between me and my husband."

Suddenly, I couldn' t control myself. A wave of pure rage washed over me. All the pain and confusion of the last twenty-four hours erupted. I lunged at her.

"You did this!" I screamed, my hand connecting with her cheek in a loud, sharp slap.

Chloe cried out, stumbling back, her hand flying to her face. The sound of the slap echoed in the quiet room.

"Sarah!" David yelled. He was out of the bed in an instant, his hospital gown flapping around his legs. He rushed to Chloe' s side, ignoring me completely. He pulled her into his arms, checking her face, murmuring soft, comforting words to her.

He turned to me, and his face was a mask of fury. "What is wrong with you? Get out. And you will apologize to Chloe before you go."

"Apologize?" I choked out, laughing a bitter, broken laugh. "She' s the one who should be apologizing. She' s trying to steal my husband!"

"She' s not stealing anyone," he snarled. "She was here for me when I woke up from a car crash. You were not. Where were you, huh? If you' re my wife, where were you?"

"I was at work! I came as soon as I heard!" I cried, desperation clawing at my throat. "David, we are married! We promised to love each other, in sickness and in health. Don' t you remember our vows? You cried when you said them."

Chloe, still nestled in his arms, spoke up. "David told me you two were just childhood friends, but that you became obsessed with him. He said you couldn' t accept that he loved me." Her voice was trembling, but her eyes, when they met mine over his shoulder, were cold and hard.

It was a lie. A carefully constructed lie. Everything she said was a dagger, twisting the beautiful history of my life with David into something ugly and distorted.

"That' s not true!" I screamed. "He' s my husband!"

David held Chloe tighter. "She' s right. Now I remember. You were always... clinging. I needed space. I found love with Chloe. You need to accept it and move on."

His words were poison. He was taking our shared past, our love story, and rewriting it with Chloe as the heroine and me as the villain. The pain was so intense it was physical, a crushing weight on my chest.

My eyes fell to his left hand. His wedding ring was gone. My own felt heavy and cold on my finger. With trembling hands, I pulled it off. It was a simple gold band, worn smooth over ten years.

"Then you won' t be needing this," I said, my voice barely a whisper. I held it out to him. "This is yours."

He wouldn' t even look at it. He just shook his head.

My hand dropped to my side. I looked at him one last time, at this stranger wearing my husband' s face, holding another woman in his arms in the room where our life was supposed to start over.

With a choked sob, I turned and ran. As I fled down the hallway, I heard the faint clatter of the gold ring as I let it fall from my numb fingers, abandoning it on the cold, polished floor.