The EMTs moved too fast to question me. At the hospital, a nurse outside the exam room tried to stop me with a flat, practiced “family only,” and I heard myself say husband again without any stumble at all. She looked at Hope, looked at me, and stepped aside.
Now I’m in the room, hours later, beside her holding her hand as if letting go would count as walking away from something I started.
My heart hasn’t stopped thundering once.
I’m in deep, deep shit.
Every time a nurse comes in, I expect the next question to be the one I can’t answer. Insurance card. Date of marriage. Emergency contact details. Something simple. Something normal. Something a real husband would know without thinking.
She has no idea who I am and I don’t know much about her either.
One thing I do know is she certainly isn’t on my insurance.
I stare at the floor between my shoes and run through possibilities. None of them good. At some point paperwork will show up. Forms will need signatures. Someone in billing willstart asking real questions instead of medical ones. The longer I sit here, the heavier the lie gets.
Hope stirs once, settles again. I look over at her angelic face.
Nothing but a shift in her deep sleep.
Leaning back in the chair, I scrub a hand over my face. My phone burns against my thigh. I’ve held off calling my folks for now. Admitting what I’ve done makes it real. The problem is, I’m out of time and out of ideas.
When her care team comes in to check vitals and talk quietly near the foot of the bed, I step into the hallway and call Jamie.
He answers with, “If this is about a deploy, I quit.”
“I need help.” I cup my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound.
The joke drops out of his voice. “What happened?”
I tell him. Talking to Hope at the Market. The guy following her. The assault. Ambulance. My husband lie. Now, the hospital room and why I’m still here.
I can’t leave her alone when I promised everything will be alright.
He lets out a long breath when I finish.
“Okay,” he says. “First, you did the right thing.”
“I committed insurance fraud in an ambulance for a woman I’ve said less than fifty words to,” I scoff. “Hardly admirable.”
He assures me, “No, you got her treated.”
“True,” I sigh. “I can’t argue with you there.”
“Good. Then move to step two.”
I press my shoulder against the wall outside her room. “Which is?”
“Call HR. Right now,” Jamie urges. “Hungry Llama might have options. Emergency dependent enrollment. Domestic partner paperwork. Some weird loophole none of us knows exists. You need a real adult with access to benefits.”
I close my eyes for a second. Hungry Llama. Work. Insurance. A real plan.
The words line up in a way my own thoughts haven’t managed to since I saw her on the ground.
“She told me to send the ambulance away,” I recollect. “She kept talking about money. I didn’t have much time to think.”
“No insurance?”
“Doesn’t seem like it. She was terrified of the hospital bill.” I peer at her through the window of the door to her room. “Shit. I’ve got myself in a real mess.”
