I Faked An Injury To Escape My Abusive Billionaire Husband. But The Er Doctor Just Revealed A Dark Secret About My Husband’s First Wife. How Do I Go Back To That House Now?
The Medical Showdown
The sound of Dr. Miles’s firm footsteps faded and the swoosh of the curtain being pulled back marked the beginning of the second round of this mental battle. From behind the thin green fabric that separated us, I strained my ears listening to every sound. Preston immediately pounced with a barrage of questions as soon as he saw the doctor.
His voice was frantic, his pitch fluctuating erratically just like someone caught cheating on a final exam.
“Doctor, how is she? Is my wife going to be okay? Can she go home now? I have a private doctor at home with a full set of equipment. She can be treated there.”
Preston was trying hard to dominate the conversation using his wealth and resources as his ace card, hoping this doctor would be dazzled by his money. However, Doctor Miles was not the type to be bought with promises of luxury facilities or a thick envelope. I heard the doctor’s calm flat voice respond, each sentence like a slap across Preston’s face,.
“Mr. Davenport, your wife suffered a severe impact to her head and hip. There are indications of a concussion. Taking her home now would be endangering her life. If you insist you can sign a form refusing medical advice. But remember if anything happens on the way or at home it will be purely your negligence and could become a legal matter.”
The threat of a “legal matter” was the checkmate for Preston. For a man obsessed with his reputation, the law and the police were two things to be avoided like a contagious disease. Silence fell in the ER hallway for a few seconds that felt like an eternity.
Preston was probably calculating the pros and cons in his bald head. I could picture his face now flushed red holding back the anger he couldn’t unleash, his eyes darting around looking for an escape route. He was cornered.
On one hand, he wanted to take me home to control me again. On the other, he was terrified of dealing with Dr. Miles who knew his dark history. Finally, Preston’s voice was heard again, this time much weaker like a slowly deflating tire,.
“Fine, do what’s best. I want her in the best room, a first class suite. No, the most luxurious one in this hospital. Don’t put her with other patients.”
The request for a luxury room wasn’t out of love for me but out of paranoia. He didn’t want me sharing a room with another patient who might be friendly and chatty. He was afraid I would confide in my bedside neighbor about my husband’s hobby of domestic violence.
He wanted to isolate me even in the hospital. Doctor Miles agreed to the request quickly, perhaps thinking that I would be safer and calmer in a private room.
“Very well. We’ll prepare the room. Please handle the administration at the front desk. I will ensure Mrs. Davenport is stable before she is moved.”
After that debate ended, the nurses returned to move me to an inpatient room. The journey from the ER to the upper floor felt like a small victory parade for me. I was pushed through quiet hospital corridors watching the ceiling lights streak by,.
There was no Preston gripping my hand painfully, no angry barks, no threatening glares, just the sound of the gurney wheels and a nurse humming softly. When we arrived at the room I almost laughed at its luxury. It looked more like a four-star hotel suite than a place for sick people.
There was a plush sofa, a mini fridge, a large flat screen TV, and a wide window overlooking the city lights. Preston truly went all out throwing money away for the sake of his ego and privacy. Once the nurse finished setting up my IV and left me alone, the door opened slowly.
The Warning
Preston came in. He was no longer in a panic. His face was back to its usual flat expression, his mask of dignity perfectly in place again.
He walked around the room inspecting the bathroom, the closets, even peeking behind the curtains just like a detective searching for listening devices. After confirming the room was secure, he approached my bed. He stood over me, his gaze not one of affection but a cold probing stare.
“Ellie,” he called softly.
I slowly opened my eyes putting on the weak and confused expression I had practiced. “Pre,” I answered faintly.
He leaned his face close to mine. The scent of his expensive cologne mixed with the smell of his anxious sweat.
“You will not act up in here. Don’t say anything strange to the doctors or nurses. Especially not that doctor from earlier.”
His finger jabbed stiffly towards the door. “Remember my image is everything. If any rumors come out of your mouth you know the consequences.”
The threat sounded cliché like a line from a cartoon villain but I knew he was serious.
“It hurts Preston,” I groaned, changing the subject. I didn’t want to argue; I just wanted him to leave.
Preston grunted in annoyance as if my pain was just a ploy to make his life difficult. Which, to be fair, it was.
He straightened up smoothing his slightly wrinkled suit. “I have to go home for a bit, grab a change of clothes and take care of some work. I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Don’t even think about getting out of this bed.”,
After making sure my phone was placed on a table far out of my reach, he finally left. The sound of the door closing firmly was the most beautiful music I had heard all night. I was alone.
