The door banged against the wall with the sound of a gunshot.

Alexia jumped. She was on the floor, kneeling beside a pile of blankets she had arranged into a makeshift bed.

Jensen stared at the nest of pillows on the hardwood floor. Then he looked at the massive, king-sized bed, perfectly made, empty.

What are you doing? he asked. His voice was tight.

Alexia stood up. She was wearing oversized pajamas, but she still looked frail. Her hand went automatically to her side.

The guest rooms are locked, she said. Her voice was flat. "Eleanor's orders."

So you sleep on the floor? Like a dog?

I'm not sleeping in that bed with you, Jensen.

He walked into the room, kicking a pillow across the floor. "This is ridiculous. You are my wife. You sleep in the bed."

I'm your hostage, she corrected. "Not your wife."

He grabbed her arm. He didn't mean to squeeze, but he was angry. He was unsettled, though he wouldn't admit it.

Get in the bed, Alexia.

She winced. "You're hurting me."

He let go as if burned. He saw the red marks his fingers left on her pale skin. Guilt flashed through him, hot and quick, but he buried it under anger.

Fine, he spat. "Sleep on the floor. See if I care. If you get sick, don't expect me to play nurse."

He stormed into the bathroom. He turned the shower on cold. He stood under the spray, trying to wash away the image of her passport. Trying to wash away the feeling of losing control.

When he came out, the room was dark.

He got into bed. The sheets were cold.

He lay there, staring at the ceiling. He could hear her breathing on the floor. It was shallow, uneven. Hitching breaths.

He turned on his side. He looked over the edge of the bed.

She was curled into a tight ball, shivering.

Dammit.

He threw the covers off. He got out of bed and bent down.

Alexia.

She didn't answer. She just whimpered.

He scooped her up. She was terrifyingly light. She felt like a bird, all hollow bones and fragility.

No… she mumbled, pushing weakly against his chest.

Shut up, he whispered.

He laid her on the bed. He pulled the duvet over her.

She scrambled to the far edge, putting as much distance between them as the mattress allowed. She turned her back to him.

Jensen lay down on his side. He stared at the curve of her spine under the pajamas.

He wanted to reach out. He wanted to pull her back to the center. Back to him.

Instead, he turned his back to her.

They lay there, inches apart, separated by an ocean of silence.

Alexia woke up because the pain was gone. Or rather, it was masked by a warmth that enveloped her.

She opened her eyes. She was staring at a chest. A broad, muscular chest covered in a grey t-shirt. An arm was draped over her waist, heavy and secure.

Jensen.

For a split second, her brain forgot. For a split second, she was just his wife, and they were just sleeping. She breathed in his scent-cedar and sleep-and felt a treacherous pang of safety.

Then, her body remembered.

A wave of nausea so violent it felt like a punch rolled through her. She gagged.

She shoved his arm away and scrambled out of bed.

Jensen woke up instantly. "What?"

Alexia didn't answer. She ran to the bathroom, slamming the door. She collapsed in front of the toilet.

She retched, but nothing came up. Her stomach was empty. It was just dry heaving, painful spasms that made her eyes water.

She heard the bedroom door open. Then the bathroom door handle turned.

Jensen stood in the doorway. His hair was messy from sleep. He looked at her huddled on the floor, clutching the porcelain.

His face hardened.

Am I that repulsive? he asked. His voice was ice.

Alexia looked up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "What?"

You wake up next to me and you vomit. Message received, Alexia.

He grabbed a hand towel from the rack and threw it at her. It landed on her head, heavy and soft.

Clean yourself up. Stop the drama.

He turned to leave. "Oh, and tonight is the Gala for the Children's Hospital. Wear the blue dress."

Alexia pulled the towel off her face. "No."

He stopped.

I'm not going, she said. "I'm sick, Jensen. I need a doctor."

You're always sick, he sneered. "If you're not in that car at 7:00 PM, I will cut the funding to your grandfather's estate maintenance. I know Clark is helping you, but the estate bills go through the main trust. My trust."

Alexia felt the blood drain from her face. "You wouldn't."

Try me.

He walked out.

Alexia sat on the cold tile floor. She couldn't stop shaking.

She waited until she heard the front door slam. Then she got dressed. Jeans. A sweater. Sneakers.

She took the service elevator down to avoid the doorman.

On the ground floor, the elevator stopped. The doors opened.

A man in a sharp suit stepped in. He was tall, with dark hair and eyes that held a calm intelligence. He seemed out of place among the usual residents.

He saw Alexia leaning against the wall, clutching her side.

Hey, he said. His voice was deep, gentle. "Are you okay?"

Alexia nodded, not trusting her voice.

He didn't look away. He pressed the button to hold the door. "You don't look okay. Do you need me to call a car for you?"

Alexia looked at him. Really looked at him. The concern in his eyes felt alien, something she hadn't seen in years.

I'm fine, she whispered. "Just… a stomach bug."

He stepped back, giving her space, but his gaze remained watchful.

If you're sure, he said, his tone suggesting he wasn't. "Take care of yourself."

The doors opened to the lobby.

Alexia stumbled out into the street. She hailed a cab.

Urgent Care, she told the driver. "Please hurry."

The doctor was young, tired, and blunt.

Your white blood cell count is elevated, and based on the location of the pain and your rebound tenderness, I strongly suspect acute appendicitis, she said, looking at the chart. "This isn't something you can ignore, Mrs. Carlson. You need to go to an emergency room for a surgical consult. Immediately."

She handed Alexia a referral form. "You need to reduce stress. You need to rest. And you need surgery. If you keep going like this, you're going to end up in the ER with a rupture, and that's life-threatening."

Alexia took the form. Her hands were shaking. "Can I… can I wait a day? I just need one more day."

The doctor looked at her like she was crazy. "Can you? Maybe. Should you? Absolutely not. I'm prescribing you the strongest painkillers I can, but this is a temporary, dangerous solution."

Alexia swallowed two of the pills she gave her right there in the office.

Her phone buzzed.

Aubree: Hey girl! I feel terrible about last night. Let me make it up to you. Lunch at Le Coucou? Just us girls. We need to talk about Jensen's birthday. I want to make sure I don't step on your toes!

It was a trap. Alexia knew it was a trap.

But if she didn't go, Aubree would tell Jensen she was being difficult. She would spin it.

Fine, Alexia typed. 12:30.

Alexia arrived at Le Coucou early. She ordered hot water with lemon.

Aubree swept in ten minutes late. She looked radiant.

Alexia! She kissed the air beside Alexia's cheek. "You look… cozy."

She sat down. "I ordered for us! The seafood tower. It's to die for."

The mere thought of food, let alone raw seafood, made Alexia's stomach clench. The smell of brine and shellfish from a nearby table was already making her feel lightheaded. "Aubree, I can't eat. I'm not feeling well."

Aubree waved her hand. "Oh, stop it. You're always on a diet. Live a little."

Then, Alexia saw him.

Jensen walked through the door.

He spotted them and walked over. He looked annoyed, but when he saw Aubree, he relaxed.

Bree said you guys were making up, he said to Alexia, sitting down next to Aubree.

Alexia stared at Aubree. Making up?

Aubree grabbed his arm. "I just wanted to clear the air!"

The waiter brought the tower. Oysters. Clams. Sashimi. It smelled of the ocean and raw flesh.

Jensen picked up an oyster. "Eat, Alexia. It's rude to stare."

I can't, Alexia said, her voice tight. "The doctor said-"

Jensen slammed his fork down. "God, you are impossible. Aubree is trying to be nice. Eat the damn oyster."

Aubree held one out to Alexia, a smirk playing on her lips. "Just one, Lexie. For peace?"

Alexia looked at the glistening oyster. She could feel a cold sweat breaking out on her forehead, the pain in her side a sharp, insistent pulse. She looked at Jensen. He was looking at her with pure contempt.

Something inside her snapped. It wasn't loud. It was quiet. It was the sound of a thread finally breaking.

Alexia stood up.

She reached into her bag. She pulled out the copy of the divorce agreement she had printed at a shop near the clinic.

She slapped it onto the table, right on top of the crushed ice and the oysters.

I'm not hungry, she said. Her voice was steady.

Jensen stared at the papers soaking up the melting ice.

Since you're both here, Alexia said, looking from him to her. "You can celebrate. Aubree, make sure he signs it. You're good at making him do things."

The restaurant went silent.

Jensen's face turned purple. "Sit down," he hissed.

Alexia turned around.

She walked out. She didn't look back. She didn't hold her side. She walked tall.