Page 24 of Life Or Death

No. I don’t. And that’s the part that eats at me the most. I’ve watched her night after night, memorized the way she moves, cataloged every smile she’s ever given a stranger. I’ve obsessed over her in ways that would make her skin crawl if she knew. But I don’t know her favorite color. I don’t know what makes her laugh. I don’t know what she dreams about at night.

I know nothing about the woman I married.

“I know enough,” I say quietly. “Look, it’s important that you go along with it. At least until you’re healed. You’ve got a long road ahead of you. More surgeries and rehab. The doctors are saying your recovery can take anywhere from six months to a year. The insurance kicks in next week.” I pause, watching her face carefully. “Once it does, you’ll need to be moved to a different hospital. I can’t bring the card here. They’ll ask too many questions.”

Her eyes drift away from mine, fixing on some point above my head. The slight furrow in her brow smooths out, and her expression goes flat. It’s almost as if someone reached inside her chest and turned off the light.

“Jess?”

Nothing. Not even a blink.

I lean forward, my hand hovering near her arm. “Did you hear what I just said?”

Still nothing. She’s staring at the ceiling now, her chest rising and falling in that mechanical rhythm that matches the beeping of the monitor. But her eyes—they’re vacant. Hollow.

Something tightens in my chest. I’ve seen this before—in the men I’ve tortured. They reach a point where living becomes unbearable and their minds just shut down.

But seeing it on her face makes my stomach turn.

“Aren’t you going to say something? Tell me to go fuck myself? Yell. Scream. Do something.”

I watch her, waiting for the anger, the fury, the righteous indignation that she has every right to feel. But there’s nothing.

Then I see it—a single tear, sliding down her temple and disappearing into her hairline. It’s followed by another, and another, tracking silently down the side of her face.

“You should’ve let me die.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. I feel them in my chest, in my gut, in the marrow of my bones.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “It would’ve been kinder than this.”

Something hot and vicious coils in my gut. She turns her face away from me, staring at the wall. Tears fall steadily from her eyes, and each one that drops feels like a nail being driven into my chest.

She’d rather be dead than be married to me.

Isn’t that some shit?

Don’t get me wrong, I knew her reaction to the news wouldn’t be good. I braced for the screaming and the accusations. Anticipated fury, and expected her to call me every name in the book.

Kind of like Tori did.

I even figured she’d demand a divorce.

The only thing I didn’t prepare for is this quiet devastation.

My jaw clenches so hard I can hear my teeth grinding. I want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she understands that I did this for her. That I emptied my savings, and drained Dread’s, committed fraud, and bound myself to a woman I barely know—all so she could live and get the care that she deserved.

But I don’t touch her.

“Look at me,” I say, my voice rough.

She doesn’t move. She just keeps staring at the fucking wall like it has the answers to this fucking mess.

My nostrils flare, and I grip the railing beside her bed, my knuckles whitening around the metal. “The second you’re healed and back on your feet. I’ll file for divorce. You’ll never have to see me again.”

Hell, I’ll walk out the door right now and never return.