"Iris," Lincoln breathed out, his hand trembling as he reached toward me. "You're here."

Chloe whipped her head back toward the bed, panic flashing across her heavily contoured face. She immediately stepped into his line of sight, blocking his view of the doorway.

"Don't look at her, Lincoln," Chloe ordered, her voice shrill. "I told you. She doesn't care about you. She's only here to hurt you."

Lincoln shoved Chloe's arm away with surprising force. "Move. I want to see my wife."

I stepped fully into the room and let the heavy wooden door shut behind me. The solid thud echoed off the sterile walls. I didn't rush to his bedside. I didn't offer a comforting smile. I simply stood at the foot of the mattress, gripping the manila envelope.

Chloe spun around to face me, her eyes narrowed into venomous slits. "Get out! Can't you see he's in a fragile state?"

"You seemed to be handling his fragile state just fine with your fairy tales," I replied, my tone flat.

"Tell him why you're really here," Chloe demanded, pointing a manicured finger at the envelope in my hand. She turned back to Lincoln, her tone shifting to desperate pleading. "She brought divorce papers, baby! Ask her! She wants to leave you to die and take everything you own. She's been plotting this for months."

Lincoln squinted through the bandages wrapped around his forehead. He stared at the thick envelope. "Iris? What is she talking about?"

I lifted the envelope slightly. "She's actually telling the truth for once."

Lincoln shook his head, wincing as the movement pulled at his stitches. "No. We just bought the lake house. We're happy. We're celebrating our anniversary."

Chloe jumped right back in, sensing an opening. "She hasn't been happy! She's been sneaking around behind your back. She never loved you, Lincoln. She used you for your money, and when you fell, she left you bleeding on the pavement! I'm the one who stayed. I'm the one who loves you!"

Lincoln glared at Chloe. The confusion in his eyes quickly morphed into pure rage. "I don't even know your name."

"It's Chloe!" she shrieked, tears ruining her mascara, leaving dark tracks down her cheeks. "We're together! You promised me a ring! You promised you were going to leave her for me!"

"You're insane," Lincoln growled. His chest heaved beneath the thin hospital gown. "I am married to Iris. I love Iris. Get out of my room before I call security."

Chloe lunged forward, trying to grab his hand. "Baby, please, the doctor said your memory is messed up. You're just confused—"

Lincoln yanked his hand back so hard he pulled his IV line taut. The heart monitor beside the bed began to beep wildly, a rapid, frantic rhythm.

"I said get out!" he roared.

Chloe flinched. She looked at me, expecting me to crumble, expecting me to intervene. I just stared back, my face entirely blank.

Realizing she had lost this battle, Chloe grabbed her designer purse from the visitor's chair. She stormed toward the exit, slamming her shoulder hard into mine as she passed.

"You'll pay for this," she hissed in my ear.

I didn't even blink. I opened the door for her, waited until she stomped out into the hallway, and let it click shut again.

Now it was just the two of us.

The frantic beeping of the monitor slowed as Lincoln caught his breath. He looked at me, his expression softening instantly. The anger vanished, replaced by the desperate, pleading look of a terrified child.

"Iris," he whispered. "Come closer. Please."

I walked to the side of the bed. I didn't reach for his outstretched hand. I kept my arms firmly at my sides.

"I was so scared," he said, his voice cracking. "I had this awful nightmare that I fell. And then that strange woman was here, screaming at me, telling me terrible lies about you."

I looked at his bruised face. This was the man I had spent six years with. The man who, just three days ago, had mocked me, cheated on me, and told me I was nothing without his wealth.

Now, he looked completely broken.

Instead of pity, a hot, venomous spike of hatred pierced my chest.

He gets to forget. He gets to erase the two years of late-night arguments, the blatant disrespect, the smell of Chloe's perfume lingering on his shirts. He gets to retreat to a safe, happy memory from four years ago, leaving me to carry the weight of his betrayal alone.

"Her name is Chloe," I said.

"I don't care what her name is," Lincoln replied, straining forward to brush his fingers against my sleeve.

I took a step back, out of his reach.

"You should care," I told him. "You bought her a diamond tennis bracelet last month. You pay the rent for her downtown apartment."

Lincoln's eyes widened in horror. "What? No. That's impossible. I wouldn't do that. I would never do that to you."

"You did."

"Iris, look at me. I love you. We're going to have a baby."

My stomach turned. "I miscarried two years ago, Lincoln. While you were in a hotel with her."

The color drained from his face entirely. He stared at me, his mouth opening and closing silently.

"No," he finally choked out. "No, you're lying. You're just upset about the accident. You're trying to punish me."

I tossed the manila envelope onto his lap. It landed with a heavy slap against the thin hospital blanket.

"Sign them."

He stared at the paperwork like it was a venomous snake. "I won't." He shoved the envelope away, sending it sliding toward the edge of the bed. "I am your husband."

"You were my husband," I corrected him, my voice sharp. "Then you became her ATM. Now, you're just an obstacle."

"The doctors said my brain is swollen," he pleaded, tears pooling in his eyes. "I'm confused. Give me time, Iris. Just let me remember. We can fix this."

"I don't want you to remember," I replied. "I want you to sign."

"Why are you doing this?!" he shouted, frustration finally breaking through his panic. "I almost died!"

"And I called the ambulance," I shot back. "That was my final act of charity as your wife."

Lincoln stared at me, a tear spilling over his bruised cheek, tracking through the iodine smeared near his jaw. "You're so cold."

I laughed. A dry, hollow sound that scraped against my own throat. "You taught me how."

I turned my back on him and walked toward the door.

"If you walk out that door, I'll never sign them!" he threatened, his voice echoing loudly in the small room. "I'll drag this out in court for years!"

I paused with my hand on the cold metal doorknob.

"Keep your money, Lincoln. Keep your mistress. I just want my freedom."

I twisted the knob and pulled the door open, ready to leave him and his shattered memory behind forever.

But my exit was blocked.

Standing in the hallway, flanked by two men in dark suits, was Julian. Lincoln's older brother.

Julian looked down at me, his expression entirely unreadable, before his gaze flicked to the divorce papers resting on Lincoln's bed.

"Nobody is signing anything today, Iris," Julian said softly.

The jarring ring of my cell phone broke the morning silence.

I stared at the screen. LINCOLN.

Yesterday, I had shoved past his brother Julian and walked out of Mercy General without a backward glance. Now, my soon-to-be ex-husband was calling me.

I swiped the green icon and brought the device to my ear.

"Iris?" His voice sounded hollow, scraping against the receiver.

I didn't answer immediately. I poured my black coffee, the dark liquid filling the ceramic mug.

"Iris, are you there?" Panic edged into his tone.

"I'm here."

"Why haven't you visited me?" he demanded, the words tumbling out in a rushed, desperate mess. "I woke up in this miserable room, and you aren't here. Where are you?"

Dr. Evans had warned me about the brain swelling. The severe confusion. Lincoln had completely erased my visit from his fractured memory. He forgot the divorce papers sitting on his lap. He forgot the confrontation.

"I'm at home," I stated flatly.

"Then come to the hospital! I need you." The rustle of stiff hospital sheets transmitted through the speaker. "My head is killing me. I'm so confused. You need to be here with me."

"I'm not coming, Lincoln."

Silence stretched over the line, broken only by the faint, rhythmic beeping of his heart monitor.

"What do you mean you aren't coming?" His voice dropped, trembling. "I'm your husband. I fell. I almost died."

"And you survived," I replied, taking a sip of my coffee. The bitter taste coated my tongue. "Congratulations. Now we can proceed with the divorce."

"Divorce?" He choked on the word. "No. No, we aren't doing that. I love you!"

"We are done, Lincoln. There is no marriage left to save. There is only paperwork."

"Stop saying that!" he yelled. The sudden spike in volume forced me to pull the phone an inch away from my ear. "I love you deeply! I would never leave you. We are going to build a family. We are going to be happy!"

I set my mug down on the granite counter. A sharp, ugly laugh escaped my throat.

"Happy?" I asked, my grip tightening on the phone. "You think we're happy?"

"We are!" he insisted, his breathing turning ragged. "I don't know why you're acting like this. I don't know why you're punishing me. I love you, Iris."

"Your love is disgusting."

He gasped as if I had reached through the phone and struck him. "Iris..."

"Don't say my name," I cut him off, my voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Your love is dirty, Lincoln. It's filthy. It reeks of cheap hotel soap and another woman's perfume."

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"You dragged our vows through the mud for two years," I continued, refusing to let him interrupt. "You smiled at me across the dinner table while texting her under it. You touched me with the same hands you used on her. Your love makes my skin crawl."

"No!" he sobbed. Actual tears choked his words. "I wouldn't do that. I'm a good husband. I'm a good man!"

"You bought her jewelry with our joint account, Lincoln," I pushed forward, my tone completely devoid of warmth. "You took her to the exact same restaurant where we had our rehearsal dinner. You didn't just cheat. You humiliated me."

"I don't remember that!" he pleaded. "I wouldn't do that!"

"Your amnesia doesn't erase my trauma."

"You're making this up!" Every word he spoke was laced with denial. "You're just angry about the accident."

"You're a parasite." Every word I spoke was a calculated strike. "You fed on my patience. You drained my youth. You thought your bank account gave you a free pass to treat me like garbage. You are nothing to me now."

"Please," he begged, his voice cracking entirely. "Please, Iris. My brain is broken. I can't remember. I just want my wife."

"Your wife is dead."

"Lincoln, who are you talking to?"

A new voice filtered through the background. High-pitched. Needy.

Chloe.

She was still there. Still hovering around his bed like a vulture waiting for the carcass to cool.

"Get away from me!" Lincoln roared, the sound tearing through the phone.

"Baby, you're pulling your IV!" Chloe shrieked. "Give me the phone. She's just upsetting you!"

"Don't touch me!"

A loud crash echoed through the receiver. A plastic tray hitting the linoleum floor. Glass shattering.

"Get out of my room!" Lincoln screamed at her. His voice was raw, tearing at his vocal cords. "Get out! I don't want you here! I want my wife!"

"Lincoln, please!" Chloe cried. "She hates you! I'm the one who loves you!"

"Get out!" he bellowed again.

Footsteps retreated rapidly. A heavy wooden door slammed shut.

Heavy, erratic breathing filled the line. The heart monitor in the background was screaming, a frantic, rapid alarm.

"Iris?" Lincoln panted, crying openly now. "Iris, she's gone. I kicked her out. It's just me. Just us."

I stared out my kitchen window, ignoring the dull gray sky.

"There is no us," I said.

"Why are you doing this?" he wailed, completely losing control. "I don't understand your hatred! I don't understand why you look at me like I'm a monster! What did I do to deserve this?"

He genuinely didn't know. The trauma had wiped his guilt clean, leaving him a victim in his own twisted narrative. He got to experience the heartbreak without carrying the blame.

It wasn't fair.

"You'll sign the papers, Lincoln. Or I will take this to court, and I will drag your pristine reputation through the gutter. I have the bank statements. I have the hotel receipts. I have every single text message you sent her."

"I don't care about the money!" he cried. "I just want you!"

"Then you'll die wanting."

I ended the call.

The silence in my apartment rushed back in, heavy and suffocating.

I tossed the phone onto the counter and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes. My chest heaved. I had won the argument, but the victory tasted like ash.

My phone buzzed against the granite.

I ignored it.

It buzzed again. And again.

I dropped my hands and glared at the screen, expecting Lincoln's name to flash across the glass.

It wasn't Lincoln.

It was an unknown number.

I picked it up and swiped to accept the call.

"Stop calling me, Julian," I snapped, assuming his brother was trying a new tactic.

"I'm afraid you have the wrong man, Iris," a smooth, deep voice replied.

I froze. The voice was unfamiliar. Rich, calm, and entirely too confident.

"Who is this?" I demanded.

"Someone who knows exactly what your husband has been hiding," the stranger said. "And someone who can ensure you get a lot more than just a divorce."