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 Evidence
The trip to the radiology department felt like the most enjoyable excursion of the year. Without Preston clinging to me like a leech, I could breathe freely. Dr. Miles walked beside my gurney.
He maintained his professional demeanor until we were inside the private patient elevator and the doors slid shut. Once it was just the two of us inside—the nurse was in a separate elevator with some equipment—Doctor Miles’s shoulders relaxed.
“Mister Davenport’s acting is quite impressive,” He commented, shaking his head. “Earlier he asked the on-duty nurse if the soup he brought was okay for a patient to eat, even after he’d already fed you half a bowl. His commitment to his image is truly something else.”
We arrived at the radiology prep room, a small cold space filled with computer monitors. Dr. Miles didn’t take me to the large noisy scanning machine. Instead he parked my gurney in a corner shielded by a thick curtain then pulled up a chair and sat in front of me.
His face turned serious again. He opened a thick folder he’d been carrying.
“Mrs. Davenport, we have about 45 minutes before I have to take you back upstairs. I want to show you something.”
He pulled out several X-ray films. They weren’t new scans of my head but seemed to be old ones or perhaps someone else’s.
“This is your X-ray that I took discreetly when you were first admitted to the ER yesterday,” he said quietly.
He pointed to the rib cage area on the film. “See this thin line? This is a healed fracture of a rib. It’s about 1 or 2 years old.”
My heart fluttered. He was right. Two years ago Preston had kicked me so hard I had trouble breathing for a week,.
I never went to a doctor, just took over-the-counter painkillers and pressed a cold compress to my side while crying in the bathroom.
“And this,” he said pointing to my forearm. “There’s a hairline fracture in the ulna. This is medical proof Mrs. Davenport. Your body is a walking map of torture. This isn’t the result of a slip and fall yesterday afternoon.”
Tears welled up in my eyes again seeing the black and white proof of my own suffering. It was horrifying to see how damaged my body was on the inside while on the outside I always tried to appear perfect to cover up my husband’s shame.
“Doctor, if you have this proof why don’t we just go to the police right now?” I asked hopefully. I wanted to end all of this right this second.
Doctor Miles shook his head slowly, his eyes filled with a deep regret.
“It’s not strong enough Mrs. Davenport. Preston’s lawyer is as slippery as an eel. He could argue that you have brittle bone disease or that you’re clumsy and frequently fall at home. Without a witness or a recording of the incident he could turn the tables and sue us for defamation. And if that happens you’ll be sent back to that house and your fate will be the same as my sister Rebecca’s.”,
The name Rebecca was mentioned again making the cold room feel even more frigid.
“Rebecca had similar injuries,” Dr. Miles recounted, his gaze distant. “She often complained of back pain, hand pain, but always said she just bumped into a table or fell down the stairs. I was a fool back then for believing her. I thought she was just accident-prone.”
“Then a week before she died she called me in the middle of the night. She said she was scared. She said Preston was acting strangely, talking to himself about cleaning stains.”
Dr. Miles leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Rebecca said she had hidden an insurance policy in that house. Not money, but something that would ensure Preston wouldn’t dare harm her if it was discovered. But unfortunately Rebecca died before she could tell me what it was or where she hid it.”,
“Preston claimed Rebecca slipped in the bathroom, hit her head on the sink and suffered a massive hemorrhage. Case closed.”
Doctor Miles’s hands clenched into tight fists on his knees, his knuckles turning white.
“So you mean that thing is still in my house?” I asked, my eyes wide.
“It’s highly likely. Yes,” Dr. Miles answered firmly. “Preston is the paranoid but careless type. If he had already found it he would have destroyed it and been living peacefully. But look at him now. He’s terrified every time he sees me. He’s anxious. He’s constantly monitoring you. That means he either hasn’t found it yet or he’s afraid you will.”
