Chapter 2
The hospital room was dead silent.
Wade stared at the video climbing the trending charts.
He looked up at me, disbelief written all over his face. "Hannah, why did you drive Vivian to her death?"
He lunged at me, grabbing my collar. "Back then, Vivian's brother was hit by a car and died saving me. She fell into a deep depression because of it.
"Taking care of her is my responsibility. Can't you stop being so selfish?"
Tears streamed down Wade's face, landing on the back of my hand. "I only love you, Hannah. If we can get through this, let me spend the rest of my life making it up to you, please?"
I gave a cold, mocking laugh.
I hit the call button by the bed. "I want a transfer."
Wade's expression shifted.
He grabbed the nurse call cord on the wall and yanked it hard.
The plastic casing shattered, and the wires were ripped apart.
He spun around and snatched my phone off the bed.
Then he slammed it into the glass of water on the nightstand.
The screen flickered twice before going completely black.
"I'm doing this for your own good," Wade said, looming over me. "You're too emotionally unstable right now. It's easy for you to get affected by everything happening online.
"Just focus on recovering here. I'll take care of everything online."
I watched the bubbles fizz up in the water cup.
My stomach spasmed even more violently, and my breathing grew rapid.
The door swung open, and Amy came in with a new tray of meds, her gaze fixed on the floor, not daring to look at us.
Wade turned and pulled the curtains shut.
I grabbed a ballpoint pen from the table and quickly scribbled "Call the police" on my palm.
When Wade was distracted, I held out my palm for Amy to see and slipped a crumpled appointment slip into her pocket.
Amy clutched her pocket in a panic. "I'll go get some gauze."
She hurried out of the room and closed the door behind her.
I leaned against the pillow, struggling to catch my breath.
Less than ten minutes later, Wade's assistant, Paul, pushed the door open and walked in.
He went over to Wade and spoke in a low voice, "Mr. Jennings, I've already paid to have Amy sent to a far-off hospital, and the note has been destroyed."
Wade nodded.
He turned to me, his face full of hurt. "Hannah, did you want to call the cops on me?"
He stepped closer to the bed. "I'm your husband, the one you loved. Are you going to throw away everything between us to get back at me?"
He stopped and turned to Paul. "Go lock the door from the outside.
"And get someone to nail the window shut, so she won't do anything stupid."
Paul nodded and slipped out of the room.
The hallway echoed with the sound of a key turning in the lock, then came the shrill whine of a drill and the heavy thuds of nails being hammered into wood.
I pulled myself off the bed, blood still oozing from my body.
My legs were so weak that I couldn't stand. I crashed to the floor.
I crawled to the door, scrambling on all fours.
I banged on the door desperately. "Open up. Wade, let me out."
Wade's voice drifted through the door, soft and patronizing. "Hannah, be good, won't you? Stop making a scene.
"Paul, cancel tonight's plans. I'm staying here with my wife. She gets scared when she's alone."
The footsteps outside slowly faded away.
I collapsed onto the icy floor.
Blood streamed down my thigh, forming a small puddle on the tiles.
I lifted my head, my gaze fixated on the fruit knife sitting on the table.
The blade glinted coldly under the harsh fluorescent light.
Suddenly, the door burst open with a violent crash.
The lock gave way with a loud crack, splinters flying everywhere.
Peter Sterling, Vivian's younger brother, stormed in, trailed by four or five people with their phones out, ready to record.
Peter wore a loud floral shirt and had dyed his hair bright yellow.
He jabbed his finger right in my face. "You dirty bitch. Pretending to be all pure and innocent. Who the hell do you think you are?"
He stormed up to the bed and spat right on the floor. "You couldn't keep your own baby alive, so you made sure it died to pin it on my sister.
"A vicious, damned bitch like you deserves to rot in hell!"
The people behind him were shoving their phones right in my face, cameras pointed straight at me.
The camera flashes were so blinding that I could barely keep my eyes open.
Peter shouted, "Film this. Let everyone online see what a vicious bitch she really is."
A woman tried to rip the blanket off me.
I held on tight to the blanket, veins bulging on the back of my hand.
Peter grabbed the cold water pitcher from the table.
He twisted off the lid and viciously splashed the whole thing right in my face.
Water poured down my hair, soaking my clothes and making them stick painfully to my wounds.
Peter sneered, "Pathetic bitch. You couldn't keep a baby, and you still act like you're Mrs. Jennings."