Chapter 1

• I’d been married to my husband, Hank Johnson, for two years. He was always preaching that adults should deal with their own emotions.
• He wanted me to handle everything myself and not cause him trouble.
• Last time I went downstairs to take out the trash, I fell and fractured a bone. I called him.
• “I’ve got a meeting. Call yourself an ambulance.”
• I hopped on one foot looking for my phone, cold sweat running down my face.
• When my mom got seriously ill and needed to be hospitalized, I begged him to spare two hours to go to the airport with me to pick her up. Hank said he didn’t have time.
• Then he sent me some money and said his time cost more than hiring a nurse.
• I took Mom from hospital to hospital for tests, ran nonstop for a week, and nearly passed out.
• One night I laid in bed wanting to talk to Hank about all the pressure lately. He rolled over and turned his back to me.
• “You’re my wife. If you can’t even manage your emotions, how are you supposed to handle public situations with me?”
• Later I was diagnosed with moderate depression. I took the report home, hoping to talk to Hank.
• He glanced at it, then fed the paper straight into the shredder. He frowned and said I was being dramatic.
• “You sit at home all day and don’t work. What do you have to be depressed about? You’re just bored.”
• Mom died of her illness. I fainted at the hospital, and when I woke up I’d already miscarried and needed a dilation and cutterage.
• On the way to the operating room, I saw Hank with my good friend Emma Smith in his arms, asking a doctor to look at her swollen, red ankle.
• He crouched and rubbed her ankle, his voice thick with concern.
• “This is on me. I shouldn’t have let you wear heels. Next time I’ll bring you flats.”
• I laughed.
• He wasn’t about stoicism or independence. He just never counted me among the people he’d protect.
• …
• …
• The lights in the OR were so bright they hurt.
• A nurse clutched my phone and, on the thirty-seventh try, finally reached my emergency contact.
• “Are you Margot’s husband? Your wife just had a miscarriage. She needs a D&C and we need a family signature.”
• Hank cut her off, annoyed.
• “Big deal. Can’t she sign it herself? I’m busy.”
• In the background came Emma’s soft, sickly sweet voice.
• “Hank, I’m fine. Go be with Margot. I can walk by myself.”
• Hank soothed her, as gentle as ever.
• “No need. She’s very independent. Not like you—you cry forever over the smallest bump.”
• The nurse went pale and slapped a hand over the receiver, afraid I’d hear.
• But Hank’s voice still came through, clear as day.
• “Do me a favor and tell Margot she’s an adult. She needs to carry her own shit and stop being a burden.”
• The nurse’s voice was shaking. She tried again.
• “She’s very weak right now, and she just lost the baby…”
• Hank actually laughed, dripping with mockery.
• “Miscarriage? She probably did it on purpose just to make me show up. She’s faking it for attention.”
• His voice turned colder.
• “Margot, I know you’re listening. If you’re really gonna act like you’re dying, don’t call me. I don’t need that bad luck hanging over me.”
• He hung up.
• The nurse tried again. Blocked.
• The monitor started shrieking.
• My blood pressure crashed, and the world went black.
• I grabbed the nurse’s wrist and used the last of my strength to speak.
• “If I die, donate every organ. Don’t tell him.”
• I didn’t want Hank seeing me one last time.
• By his rules, even if I died, he’d blame me for wasting his time and cutting into his big earnings.
• The EKG spiked and skittered.
• “If I make it…”
• I didn’t finish. I blacked out.
• When I woke up again, the same nurse was with me. Her eyes were swollen like walnuts.
• “Finally. You’ve been out for more than thirty hours.”
• “We thought you were… well, you’re okay." She tried for a smile. "Don’t you dare do anything stupid again.”
• They hugged me one by one. Even the smell of disinfectant didn’t bother me.
• My heart felt like it had been dunked in warm water—soft and aching.
• Back then, every time I felt wronged, if Hank just handed me a mug of hot water, I could be happy for half a day.
• When we were dating, he ran three blocks in the pouring rain to grab my favorite coffee, his hands red and frozen, saying he’d carry everything for me from then on.
• At our wedding, he swore in front of all our family and friends that I’d never suffer a bit, that I’d never have to worry about anything.
• Those vows still rang in my ears. The man’s long gone.
• I spent a week in the hospital. Hank never came once.
• Not even a text.
• Every day I just lay there staring at the ceiling. The IV dripped slow. Time stretched like it would never end.
• Two nurses started chatting in the hallway.
• “Did you see that girl who came in yesterday? Just a swollen ankle, and her husband freaked out. Carried her everywhere and even lifted water to her lips.”
• “Right?" The nurse's eyes went wide. "I changed her dressing yesterday, and he kept frowning, saying we were too rough. He made us all nervous.”
• “Comparisons will drive you nuts," the other nurse said, "but if my husband was even half that considerate, I’d just assume it's all a dream and wake up smiling.”
• In a flash, I saw my mom on her deathbed, gripping my hand, worried about me.
• I saw myself fainting in a hospital hallway with no one there to help me up.
• And then it froze on Hank kneeling to rub Emma’s ankle.
• A crushing weight pressed on my chest. I couldn’t breathe.
• If they knew I was Hank Johnson’s wife, would they think it was a joke?
• I bit down hard on the back of my hand so I wouldn’t scream, teeth sinking in until I tasted blood.
• In one ear I heard Mom’s worried voice. In the other, Hank coaxing Emma, telling her he knew she was afraid of pain, his tone so damn gentle.
• I couldn’t stop my other hand from clawing at the arm with the IV, scratching until my nails left bright, bloody welts.
• My lips trembled and went white as I muttered like a crazy person, over and over.
• I’m sorry, Mom. I’m useless. I couldn’t even keep my own baby or my own husband.
• Tears splashed onto my bloody arm, but I couldn’t feel a thing. In the end I just stared into nothing, hollow and hopeless.
• My attending came by on rounds, saw my blank eyes and the blood all over my arm, and let out a long, quiet sigh.
• “Page psych to come take a look.”