Chapter 4 - The ER Waiting Room
The sterile, fluorescent lights of the emergency room buzzed with a low, agonizing hum. I paced the linoleum floor of the waiting area for what felt like hours, my naval uniform still on, smelling of jet fuel, sea salt, and absolute dread.
A nurse finally pushed through the swinging double doors. “Family of Elena Vance?”
“I’m her husband,” I said, closing the distance between us in two strides.
“She’s stable,” the nurse said, offering a tight, sympathetic smile. “But it was close. She’s suffering from severe hypothermia, frostnip on her extremities, and we found deep contusions on her forearms consistent with being grabbed forcefully. She’s on heated IV fluids now.”
Relief washed over me so intensely that my knees nearly buckled. I braced myself against the reception desk, burying my face in my hands. “Can I see her?”
“She’s drifting in and out of consciousness, but yes. Room 4.”
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I walked into the dimly lit room. Elena looked so incredibly fragile, buried under a mound of heated white blankets. The monitors beeped in a steady, reassuring rhythm. I pulled a chair to the edge of the bed and gently took her unbruised hand, pressing my forehead against her knuckles.
I had spent three years defending my country, only to leave my wife completely defenseless against the monsters living in my own home. I silently swore to her, right then and there, that I would utterly dismantle their lives.
