Chapter 1 - The Bed Rail
Henry’s hand clamped around Amy Carter’s forearm so hard the IV tubing jumped.
“Stop the drama. Get up and cook for my mom’s birthday.”
Amy sucked in air through the pain. Her lower legs, heavy in white casts, shifted under the blanket when he yanked her toward the edge of the hospital bed. The black rail rattled. The heart monitor sped up in sharp, accusing beeps.
“I can’t walk,” she said, each word clipped by pain.
Henry leaned over her, jaw tight, navy jacket still on like he hadn’t planned to stay. “You’ve been here three weeks. I’m not wasting another dime on this.”
Beside the window, Amy’s mother, Kathleen, pressed both hands to her mouth. The nurse at the medication station took one step forward and stopped when Henry tightened his grip.
“You’re useless right now, Amy,” he said, loud enough for the whole room to hear.
Humiliation burned hotter than the pain. Amy had not seen her husband in twenty-one days, not once through surgeries, dressings, or the long nights when her ribs made even breathing feel expensive. He had finally shown up to drag her out of a hospital bed because his mother wanted a birthday dinner.
“Henry, stop.” Her voice came out raw.
He bent closer. “You’re going to embarrass me.”
The door opened behind him.
Eric Carter, silver-haired and broad-shouldered in a charcoal overcoat, stepped into the room carrying a sealed manila envelope. Henry’s grip loosened before he even turned around.
Amy’s father looked first at the bruising fingers on her arm, then at the nurse, then at Henry. His voice stayed level, which made it worse.
“Take your hand off my daughter.”
Henry did. He stepped back so fast his hip hit the bedside table. The water pitcher shivered in place.
May you like
Eric laid the envelope beside Amy’s phone and blue hospital folder. “Security’s on the way,” he said. “And before you leave, you’re going to tell me why your mother’s Buick has a brand-new headlight and a dented passenger door.”
For the first time since he’d walked in, Henry looked afraid.
