All Chapters of Sexy Behind The Mask: Chapter 161 - Chapter 170

Dr. Evans shook his head. "The displacement is severe. Waiting even twenty-four hours increases the risk of permanent nerve damage. We need to operate now, while we still have a window to restore full function." He paused. "I understand this isn't the choice you want to make—""It's not a choice." The words came out harder than Nate intended. "You're telling me my wife loses the use of her hand or we risk losing our baby. That's not a choice, that's a fucking nightmare.""I know." The doctor's voice softened fractionally. "But the decision has to be made. Your wife is unconscious. You're her next of kin. The consent form requires your signature."Behind him, Trish made a small sound. Nate didn't turn around."If we don't do the surgery," he said slowly, "what happens to her wrist?" Would he hate himself for risking their baby or risking her hand?"Permanent damage. Loss of fine motor control. Chronic pain. Possibly complete loss of function depending on how the bones heal, and they wo

The grief was so overwhelming. It filled every space inside her chest until she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but feel the horrible, crushing weight of loss pressing down on her.She'd lost the baby. Their baby. The life they'd made together in that cave when everything had been terrifying and beautiful and real.Gone.All gone because she'd been clumsy on the stairs."I want to be alone." The words came out flat, dead. "Please, Nate. I can't—I need to be alone." She needed to loss it completely and she didn't want him seeing that."I'm not leaving you—""Please." She couldn't look at him. Couldn't bear to see the grief in his eyes that matched her own. Couldn't bear to see him looking at her, knowing that she'd killed the baby he'd married her for. "Please just go. I can't—I need—"Her voice broke completely, dissolving into sobs that felt like they were tearing her apart from the inside. She felt like she needed to be sick.Nate stood slowly, his face ravage

"And she'll still be your wife when she gets better. But Nate, she won't get better like this. Not at home. Not with you trying to do everything yourself." Trish's eyes were wet now. "I'm scared for her. I'm scared for both of you. And I think deep down, you're scared too."He was. God, he was terrified. Terrified that Prue would never come back from wherever she'd gone. Terrified that he'd wake up one morning and find her... No. She was stronger than that and he couldn't think about that."I can't send her away," he said, but his voice lacked conviction now. "She just needs time. She already had PTSD, then lost the baby.""You can. And maybe you should. For her sake." Trish moved closer. "Think about it, Nate. Really think about it. Because right now, what you're doing isn't working. And if you wait too long, if you let this go on too long, it might be too late to save her."She squeezed his arm one more time, then headed for the door. "I'll leave you now. Try to get her to eat someth

Nate sat at the kitchen table, his phone face-down on the surface, Grayson's words still echoing in his head.He scrubbed both hands over his face, exhaustion pulling at him like a physical weight. Four weeks of this. Four weeks of watching his wife disappear, of second-guessing every decision, of carrying guilt so heavy it made breathing difficult.The psychiatrist appointment was still six days away. Six more days of this half-life, of watching Prue go through the motions without actually living. He didn't know if either of them would make it that long. So he would call and try and arrange an appointment for this Friday. He didn’t care how much it cost.A sound made him lift his head.Prue stood in the kitchen doorway.She was still in her nightgown, her hair hanging limp around her shoulders, the brace stark white against her pale skin.For a moment, neither of them moved. Just stared at each other across the kitchen like strangers trying to remember how they used to speak.Then sh

Five months later.Six months since the miscarriage, and Prue finally felt like herself again. Or at least a version of herself that could function without the fog, without the weight of grief and guilt crushing her chest with every breath.She stood in front of their bedroom mirror, adjusting the straps of her midnight blue dress. The color brought out her eyes, made her skin glow instead of looking washed out. Her hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, blonde and healthy again. She'd even applied makeup, which she hadn’t done a lot over the last six months. The main focus had been her recovery, not just losing the baby but also the trauma and memories of Papua New Guinea.Small steps. That's what Dr. Shaw, her psychiatrist, called them. The little things that proved she was healing. Taking one day at a time.Like being able to look at her reflection without seeing a woman who'd killed her baby. Because everyone was right, it had been an accident.Most nights, the nightmares s