Page 93 of Estranged Heart
“Better?” Her eyebrows lift and she leans over a little, grabbing the empty cup from my hands.
I nod, pointing at the pitcher, and she quickly refills the cup before handing it to me again. “What would you rate your pain right now?”
I hold up six fingers after setting the cup in my lap.
“Okay. I’ll be back with some pain meds. Can you point to where you’re hurting?”
Taking a breath, I slowly bring my hand to my throat while tapping my chest with my other fingers, and then I point to my head.
“Okay. Your throat will be a little sore for a day or two but should go away with time, and hopefully the rest will too. This week was pretty rough on your body.”
A knock on the door has her turning around and a man dressed in a suit enters the room, straightening his jacket.
“I’m sorry, detective, but I don’t think now is a good time. He’s struggling with speaking at the moment. Maybe come back tomorrow.”
“I’m not here for that. The questions can wait until tomorrow but this can’t.”
Her brow furrows, and I’m definitely more awake now, needing to know if they’re here because they arrested my wife. Normally, she’s here when I first wake up after an episode but she wasn’t here either time. Something is wrong, I can feel it. He has the same look in his eyes as someone who knocks on your door to tell you they ran over your dog.
The nurse looks over at me and I give her a curt nod. Sighing, she turns back to the detective. “I’ll give you two a moment alone. I have to go and grab him pain medicine anyway.”
“Thank you,” he says, inching closer to me. “How are you today, Mr. Adams?”
I lift my hand, tilting it back and forth.
“I’m sorry to have to bother you while you’re still recovering. I’m especially sorry to have to come bearing more bad news. Elijah said he came here to inform you of what he found out about Stacey, and he reassured us that you had no involvement in what happened to Landon. Is this true?”
I nod. Didn’t he say he wasn’t here to question me? Why won’t he get on with whatever he came here to say.
“The evidence we found so far has backed up that claim, but as I said before, I’m not here for that. I’m here because your wife, Stacey . . . she was shot yesterday evening during a kidnapping. She was working for an organization involved in organ trafficking and was responsible for several deaths so far. From what I was told, the man she was working for mistook her for the captive and the bullet struck her in the chest.” He takes a breath before continuing and my heart is racing a million miles a minute. “She was barely holding on when the ambulance arrived and died on the way to the hospital. I’m very sorry. I thought it was only right for someone to come here and tell you in person.”
My ears buzz and all I can do is sit here frozen, forgetting to breathe every few seconds that pass. My wife is dead. Here I was, waiting for her to show up so I could question her. I wanted to yell and shout but I’ll never get that chance now. I’ll never know what made her go from being the woman I fell in love with to someone who could do something so revolting.
All this time I thought I knew her more than I knew myself. I was so wrong. I was wrong about her being someone I could trust, and I was wrong about her always being someone I’d runto. What happened to that teenage girl who held my hand to her heart? The one who held me the day I was told I couldn’t swim anymore, reminding me of all the things I was still capable of?
I lost her somewhere between dying and finding myself again. I’d never get her back. I don’t think her being alive would have made it possible either. Stacey’s dead, leaving me here to deal with all the chaos she created, alone with the guilt of living on because someone loved me so much they thought my life was more valuable than someone else’s.
But was that love? My throat tightens and the room spins. Holding the bed railings doesn’t stop me from moving with everything around me. I try to ground myself and can’t. I never learned how, always relying on someone to lean on—to be my strength. I need to be my own now.
“Mr. Adams?” A large hand weighs on my shoulder and I meet tired blue eyes. “Should I call someone? A friend or family member? I’m not sure it’s best for you to be alone at this time.”
I shake my head and then finally register what he said about a kidnapping. Is the person okay? Are they my wife’s killer? Am I angry with them or relieved?
My head throbs and the air is too thick around my skin, tightening around my neck like a noose. “Alone,” I say almost too quietly, not sure whether the words came out of my mouth or stayed in my head until he nods, squeezing my arm gently.
“Yeah, I’ll give you some time. I think the questioning can wait a few more days. I’m not sure how much more info you could provide us with anyway, considering you were a victim yourself.”
My eyes blink heavily and I tilt my head, my mouth opening before closing from my tongue feeling twice its size.
“They didn’t tell you about the placebos? Your medication had been switched out. You could have died if it wasn’t for Mr. Pena getting you here as fast as he did. Your wife confessed to himabout being the one to tamper with the bottles, but I’m really not sure you’re in the best state to hear about this.”
Is he serious? I gawk at him. The man told me my wife was a murderer and part of an organ trafficking ring. What’s another revelation of her being a terrible human being? Yeah, what she had for me wasn’t love, it was an addiction to being in control. She didn’t save my life for me. She did it for herself.
I hold my breath for so long this time I feel lightheaded and start to see spots. How did I not see who she really was? All this fucking time?
I reach for my phone on the side table, my weak fingers barely able to hold on to it, and the detective steadies it in my hand. I pull up a blank document and ask,“Are they okay?”
His brows wrinkles. “Who?”
