Chapter 4 - The Visitor
He came back at ten o'clock the next morning.
I was sitting up in bed, having managed to eat half a bowl of oatmeal with the help of a physical therapist who had helped me walk three agonizing laps around the nurse's station. My side burned, but my head was entirely clear.
Ethan didn't bring white roses this time.
He walked into the room carrying a leather briefcase and an expression of strained, heroic patience—the face he usually wore when dealing with an uncooperative client or an annoying neighbor. He was dressed in his sharp charcoal suit, his hair carefully combed back, though the slight dark circles under his eyes betrayed the fact that he hadn't slept well.
"Maggie," he said softly, closing the door behind him.
He looked around the room. Dad wasn't there. Rachel wasn't there. I had intentionally asked them to stay down the hall in the family lounge so Ethan would think he had caught me alone.
"Hey, Ethan," I said. My voice was raspy, but steady.
He walked over to the bed, setting his briefcase on the floor. He reached out to take my hand, but I shifted my arm slightly, picking up my plastic water cup with both hands so he couldn't touch me.
He noticed. His fingers hovered in the air for a second before he smoothly dropped his hand back to his side.
"Your father went crazy last night, Maggie," Ethan said, lowering his voice into a tone of gentle, concerned intimacy. "I went home to grab some clean clothes for you—some comfortable pajamas and your hairbrush—and your dad had hired a locksmith to shut me out of our house."
"It's my house, Ethan," I said quietly.
He flinched. It was subtle, just a slight pull at the corner of his eyes, but it was there.
"What are you talking about?" he asked, trying to laugh it off. "It's our home. We’ve lived there for six years. I know your dad is stressed about your accident, but he has no right to change the locks on my residence. I had to sleep at my mother's place last night."
"Patricia's house has plenty of room," I said. "And Lisa lives close by, doesn't she?"
The room went dead, terrifyingly silent.
The steady beep-beep-beep of my heart monitor seemed to grow louder. Ethan froze completely. The sympathetic, worried-husband mask slipped off his face, exposing the hollow, calculating panic underneath.
"What... what does Lisa have to do with anything?" he asked, his voice dropping into a flatter, lower register.
"You thought I was asleep yesterday, Ethan," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "When Dr. Keller left. When Patricia said 'three days.' You said you were free to marry Lisa. And then you talked about keeping Hawthorne Lane in the family."
Ethan stood frozen beside my bed for five full seconds. He didn't deny it immediately. A smart liar would have laughed, claimed I was hallucinating on painkillers, or sworn I had misheard him. But Ethan wasn't smart; he was just greedy and accustomed to me accommodating his excuses.
"Maggie..." he began, his voice raspy. He took a step closer, resting his hands on the bed rail. "You were heavily medicated. You were dreaming—"
"I wasn't dreaming," I snapped, the pain in my side flaring as my chest expanded. "Dr. Keller never said I was dying. She said the next seventy-two hours were critical to monitor for infection. You and your mother jumped at the idea of my death because it solved your financial problems."
Ethan’s face hardened. The gentle, caring husband was gone entirely now. His eyes narrowed, and he pulled himself up to his full height, looking down at me from beside the bed.
"You're being hysterical," he said coldly. "You have a concussion. The doctors said you suffered head trauma in the fall."
"I don't have a concussion, Ethan," I said. "My head is completely fine. My memory is perfect."
Ethan reached down, picked up his leather briefcase, and laid it flat on the rolling tray table. He clicked the locks open.
"We don't need to do this right now," he said, pulling out a white document folder. "You're stressed. But while you're in here, we need to handle some practical matters. The insurance company for North River Emergency Services called. They're preparing a settlement package for the structural failure. I brought the authorization forms so I can handle the paperwork on your behalf."
He opened the folder, pulling out three stapled pages, and held a pen out to me.
I looked at the document. It wasn't an insurance authorization.
It was a broad medical and financial Power of Attorney, granting Ethan total control over my bank accounts, my real estate, and my legal claims in the event of my temporary or permanent incapacity.
I looked up from the paper into the eyes of the man I had slept beside for six years.
May you like
"Sign it, Maggie," Ethan said softly. His voice carried a dark, subtle edge of desperation. "It's just standard procedure. It lets me pay the bills while you're stuck in this bed."
"No," I said.
