Page 75 of The Unwanted Wife

“Have it installed because it’d remind me of you? Yes.” There’s a touch on my forehead, and I know he kissed me. I smile and drift off. When I open my eyes next, it’s still dark. He sits next to me on the bed.

"Skye, baby, wake up."

"Hmm?" I yawn. "What is it?"

"How are you feeling?" He reaches over and switches on the lamp.

I wince as my eyes adjust. "I’m good." I yawn, then wince again when every muscle in my body protests. "Maybe a little sore." I sit up, then take the glass of water he hands me. I chug down most of it, then return it to him. He places it on the bedside table, then holds out my phone. "It vibrated while you were sleeping, and kept vibrating over and over again, so I took the call."

"Oh?" I look at the screen and notice the missed calls and the voice mails. I raise the phone to my ear and listen to the first one, then the next, and the third. The blood drains from my features. "Hugo, I need to go to him."

"I’ll take you."

"Apparently, he became violent, threw things around, attacked an orderly, then collapsed." The doctor’s gaze flicks to the man standing silently next to me, then back to my face. "He’s stable now."

The scent of antiseptic stings my nose. The fluorescent lights from above bounce off the walls and hurt my eyes. A headache begins to drum at my temples, and I rub at them. Nathan drove to the hospital in record time. I’m sure he broke a few speed limits, but we weren’t stopped by the police. Evidently, even the law bends to this guy. Or luck was on our side. Not that I’m feeling very lucky standing in this hospital corridor.

"I don’t understand. Hugo has never been violent before. In fact, I’ve never seen him display any form of aggression, and he was doing so well."

The doctor’s gaze grows sympathetic. "There are lots of things we don’t understand about a traumatic brain injury. The brain has enough neural pathways that, sometimes, they fire in a way that causes this kind of behavior that doesn’t follow a pattern."

I try to follow along with what he’s saying, and my headache increases in intensity. "And you’re saying he collapsed?" I move my hand to the back of my neck, trying to ease the tension.

"We’re not sure exactly what caused it. We may never know, given how the brain works." He raises a shoulder. "All we can do is eliminate possibilities. There’s nothing we can pinpoint as a cause for what happens. We have, however, changed his medication to better manage his symptoms, and hopefully, prevent such an outburst from happening again."

I glance past him into the room where I can make out the prone figure on the bed. At least he’s not surrounded by tubes or machines. But for the fact we’re in a hospital, he could simply be asleep.

"So he’s going to be okay?"

"There’s no change in his current condition," the doctor replies.

So that’s not a no, but that’s also not a yes. A shiver runs up my spine, and when Nathan wraps his arm around my shoulders, I move into the warmth of his chest. It’s the first time I’ve had someone to lean on in such a situation. All this time taking care of Hugo, I didn’t realize how lonely I felt, how overwhelming the situation really is. Just having someone here with me while I’m talking to the doctor gives me that reassurance I didn’t realize I needed.

The doctor looks between us again. "There’s a waiting room down the corridor. We’ll let you know as soon as he regains consciousness."

"I’d prefer to stay with him in his room, if that’s possible, so he sees me as soon as he wakes up." I lock my hands together.

The doctor nods, then turns and leaves.

Hugo was violent. Does that mean the care home wouldn’t want him back? I hope not. "I… I need to call the care home."

"Probably best you call them in the morning. Also, why don’t we move to the waiting room? You’ll be more comfortable there?"

"No," I say with more force than necessary. "I want to make sure I’m here for him." I can’t be there for my brother through whatever hell he’s going through on his tour. Surely, I can do this much for Hugo?

So maybe I’m assuaging my guilt for leading my life as normal while my brother puts his at stake so I can be safe, but right now, I’m going to do what feels right. Which is staying with Hugo. I march inside the room, Nathan on my heels.

I take in the pale features of the young man on the bed. He’s thinner than when I last saw him. There are hollows under his cheekbones. He’s tall enough to fit the entire length of the bed. The result: he looks like he’s made of all gangly arms and legs. And he looks so young. The headache begins to knock at the backs of my eyes. I rub my forehead and allow Nate to guide me to a chair next to Hugo’s bed.

"Oh, Hugo,"—I place my hand on his—"I’m so sorry."

A tear squeezes out from the corner of my eye, and I swat at it. I’m not going to cry for him. Hugo’s going to be fine. He has to be. "With a little bit of help, he could be back to baking daily. It’s the one thing he’s still good at. His talent is being wasted."

"Perhaps it’s time to move him to a facility with those amenities, where he’ll get a better quality of care.”

“I looked into it, but all of the good ones in the city have waiting lists of up to a year.” I rub the back of my neck.

“I’m sure I could make a few calls and find him space in the best one among them.”

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