The Woman Beside Her

A week later, I could already walk on my own, and I was going to Liam’s ward — this time without asking for permission from the doctors or the nurses.

I’d had enough of resting. Enough of being told to “focus on recovery.” My husband was still in a hospital bed, and I needed to see him.

I walked down the hallway, ignoring the nurse’s calls to bring me back to my room. My legs trembled slightly, but I didn’t stop. I was going to see Liam, whether they wanted to let me or not.

“Look who’s here,” a familiar, disgusting voice drawled from behind me.

I froze. My fingers tightened around the small bouquet I’d bought from the hospital gift shop that morning — white lilies, Liam’s favorite.

Turning slowly, I met the last face I wanted to see again.

Eleanor.

But this time, she wasn’t alone.

Beside her stood a woman who looked like she’d stepped straight out of a magazine — tall, glossy brunette hair cascading over a cream coat, diamond earrings that could feed a family for a year, and a perfectly smug smile that made my stomach twist.

Eleanor’s lips curved. “You’re out of bed, I see. How brave.”

My eyes darted between them. “What are you doing here?”

Eleanor gave a light chuckle, the kind that dripped with condescension. “Visiting my stepson, of course. I have every right to be here. Unlike you.”

The other woman tilted her head slightly, watching me like I was a stain she was trying to figure out how to clean.

“Eleanor,” she said softly, her tone sugary, “is this her?”

“Yes,” Eleanor said, her smile turning sharper. “Amelia Sinclair. The… wife.”

The way she said wife made it sound like an insult.

The woman’s eyes trailed over me — from my hospital gown, to my messy hair, down to the trembling bouquet in my hand. “Oh,” she said with a polite little laugh. “I didn’t expect her to look so… ordinary.”

My chest tightened. “And who are you exactly?”

She smiled. “Vivian.”

Just the name. No introduction, no explanation. But it was enough. My gut twisted. I’d heard the name before — more times than I cared to count. Liam’s business partner, the one Eleanor used to talk about like she was family.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Eleanor said suddenly, stepping closer, her perfume sharp and expensive. “The doctors said you need rest.”

“I’m going to see my husband.”

Eleanor’s smirk deepened. “Husband,” she repeated quietly, as if testing how the word sounded coming from my mouth. Then she leaned closer and whispered, “He wouldn’t want to see you right now.”

My breath caught. “What are you talking about?”

Vivian let out a quiet sigh, her expression almost pitying. “He woke up this morning.”

The words hit me like a slap. My heart started racing. “He—what? He woke up?”

Eleanor’s eyes gleamed with malicious delight. “Yes. And the first thing he said,” she continued, pausing just long enough to make sure it hurt, “was that he didn’t want to see you.”

I stared at her, my throat tightening, the flowers slipping slightly from my grip. “You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie?” Eleanor asked sweetly. “Ask anyone. He was agitated when your name came up. Said he wanted nothing to do with you. That’s why the doctors asked me to keep you away — for his recovery.”

My knees weakened, but I forced myself to stand straighter. “I don’t believe you. I want to see him.”

Eleanor’s smile faded, replaced by something cold. “Don’t make this harder, Amelia. You’ve already caused him enough pain. He doesn’t need your tears or your drama anymore.”

Vivian’s hand brushed Eleanor’s arm gently, her voice soft. “Maybe she should hear it from him, Eleanor. If that’s what she really wants.”

The Vivian brought her phone out and played a video of Liam, still on the bed, as he said he didn't want to see me.

"I'm marrying him," The Vivian said, tearing a faint laugh from my lips.

"That's impossible, I'm still his wife and whatever it is..."

Eleanor threw out the divorce papers on my face, stilling me for a second.

"What's this?" I asked.

"You're not blind? Divorce papers, Liam has already signed it, you sign your part and end this," Eleanor said.

"I'm not signing this, I need to talk to Liam myself..." I said and turned to walk away when the Vivian held me back.

"Where'd you think you're going to? Liam is not longer in that ward, do you think your stupid health insurance covered both your hospital bills, I've gone to your house, sold everything valuable and it still isn't enough for a day treatment of when he was in coma," Eleanor yelled.

"You did what?" I asked, stepping close to her.

"You heard her right, bitch, sold everything valuable you have, I paid his hospital bills, and handled the rest, you're nothing to him, leave, you think he got tye contract for free, I gave it to him and the condition was that he divorced you," Vivian countered, closing the space between us.

"That's his lie... Liam would never do that..."

"Well he has, and you're just nothing now," she said and threw another paper at me, an agreement to the contract he won days ago. I blinked twice, trying to settle everything.

Three years... Of my life had been joke.

My legs weakened, and for a moment, I thought I’d fall right there in the hallway.

Everything around me blurred — the sterile white walls, the faint sound of monitors beeping somewhere in the distance, the nurses’ muffled chatter.

All I could hear was the sound of my heartbeat, heavy and uneven, pounding against my ribs.

Three years.

Three years of marriage.

Three years of believing we were a team.

And now, it felt like someone had reached inside my chest and ripped the truth out of me with their bare hands.

Eleanor smiled like she’d won something, like she’d finally gotten what she wanted — me broken. “You should take care of yourself, Amelia,” she said in that same silky, poisonous tone. “You’ve lost everything now. Don’t embarrass yourself further.”

Vivian tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and added softly, “Liam deserves peace. Something you were never able to give him.”

I wanted to scream — to tell her she didn’t know what peace meant, not with a heart like hers — but my throat was too tight, and my words came out cracked and breathless. “You’re lying. You both are.”

Eleanor stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Then go ahead. Ask him yourself. If you can find him.”

And with that, she turned, her heels clicking sharply against the tiles as Vivian followed, leaving behind the faint scent of her perfume and the sour taste of humiliation.

I stood there for what felt like forever. My fingers trembled so violently the lilies slipped from my hand and hit the floor, petals scattering like pieces of something fragile and ruined.

A nurse came over, her expression soft with pity. “Mrs. Sinclair—”

“Don’t,” I whispered. “Don’t call me that.”

Because suddenly, I wasn’t sure I still was.

I forced myself back toward the elevator, one slow, painful step at a time. Every muscle in my body ached, but not from the accident — from the truth I didn’t want to face.

When the doors closed, I caught my reflection in the mirror: pale, hollow eyes, bruises fading but pain written everywhere else.

I pressed my hand to my chest, whispering, “Liam… what did they do to you?”

By the time I reached the hospital’s main exit, the drizzle outside had turned into steady rain. I stepped out anyway, letting it soak through my thin hospital gown. I didn’t care. Maybe I wanted it — to wash everything off.

My mind wouldn’t stop replaying it — Eleanor’s voice, Vivian’s smirk, the divorce papers fluttering like a cruel joke.

He wouldn’t do this to me, he couldn’t.

But the video…

Liam’s face had been real — tired, distant, cold. He’d said the words himself: I don’t want to see her.

I hugged myself tightly, shaking. My chest hurt so badly it was hard to breathe.

Somewhere deep down, though, I felt it — that small, desperate whisper that had always kept me alive: Something’s wrong.

They were lying, they had to be, but they weren't, a nurse handed brought my phone and as expected, Eleanor had sent proof, proof that my love was all nothing but a farce.

And then came the notice that I had to leave the hospital as soon as possible, I was forced out into the heavy rain, my legs wobbled and I was falling on the pavement, my eyes blurry when a strong arm caught me.

"You'll be fine..."

.

.

.

When I woke the next morning, my head throbbed and my body felt heavy, like I’d been dragged through a storm — which, in a way, I had.

The rain had stopped, sunlight spilling faintly through the curtains of an unfamiliar room. Not the hospital. Not home either.

I sat up quickly, clutching the blanket to my chest. My gown was gone. In its place, I wore a large shirt — not mine.

Panic seized me. “No…”

Flashes of last night came in fragments — the rain, the dizziness, my knees hitting the pavement… and then, that voice. Deep. Calm. “You’ll be fine.”

I turned toward the dresser and froze. A man’s jacket hung over the chair. A wallet lay beside it.

My stomach dropped.

I stumbled out of bed, still dizzy, my pulse racing. The sound of running water came from the bathroom. Someone was in there.

Oh God.

Heart pounding, I scrambled to find my clothes, anything, but all I found was my phone — dead. I slipped it into my pocket, grabbed the first thing that looked like mine, and headed for the door.

The bathroom door opened just as I reached it.

He stepped out — the stranger from last night. Tall, with dark hair still damp from the shower, a towel slung low on his hips. His eyes widened slightly when he saw me standing there, wild-eyed and trembling.

“You’re awake,” he said quietly. “You fainted outside the hospital. I brought you here.”

I swallowed hard, searching his face for any hint of deceit. “What… what happened last night?”

He hesitated. “You were drenched, freezing. You wouldn’t stop shaking. I didn’t—”

But I didn’t wait to hear the rest. I grabbed my shoes and backed away. “I need to go.”

“Wait,” he said, stepping forward, concern flickering across his face. “You shouldn’t be walking yet—”

“I said I need to go!” I snapped, my voice breaking.

I didn’t care who he was or what he’d done. I just needed to get out, to breathe, to forget the foggy, horrifying thought that maybe I hadn’t been alone last night.

I fled.

Out the door, down the quiet stairwell, my bare feet slapping against the cold concrete until I reached the street.

The morning air hit me like a slap — sharp, real.

Tears blurred my vision as I whispered to myself, “What have I done?”

And for the first time since the accident, I realized something even more terrifying than losing Liam —

I was losing myself too.