The Unwanted Wife's Ruthless Comeback

White. That was the first thing she registered. A blinding, sterile white ceiling that seemed to pulse with the rhythmic beeping next to her ear.

Diandra Riley tried to swallow, but her throat felt like she had inhaled a handful of crushed glass. She tried to turn her head, but a sharp, blinding pain shot down her neck, locking her muscles in a rigid spasm. A gasp escaped her cracked lips, sounding more like a dry rattle than a cry of pain.

"Hush, now. Don't try to move too fast."

A woman in blue scrubs appeared in her peripheral vision. Nurse Brenda Kowalski, according to the tag pinned to her chest. Her hands were gentle as she adjusted the clear plastic tube running into Diandra's arm.

"You've been out for three weeks, sweetheart. Your body needs time to remember how to wake up."

Three weeks. The words floated in the air, meaningless. Diandra blinked, trying to force her brain to process the information, but there was only a terrifying, echoing blankness. She tried to lift her hand to her head, but her arm was strapped down, immobilized by a thick foam brace.

"Where..." Her voice was a fractured whisper.

"You are in a private clinic in Zurich," Brenda said, adjusting the flow rate on the IV pump. "You took a very bad fall. Do you remember anything about the skiing accident?"

Diandra searched her mind. Skiing? Accident? There was nothing. Just a vast, empty void where her memories should have been. The effort of thinking sent a spike of pain through her temples, making her stomach heave.

"Here. Small sips."

Brenda held a plastic cup with a bent straw to her lips. The water was cool and tasted faintly of plastic, but it soothed the raw burning in her throat.

"Your husband has made sure you have the best care possible," Brenda continued, her tone warm and reassuring. "Mr. Farmer has spared no expense. The best doctors, the best equipment. You are in very good hands."

Husband.

The word hit Diandra like a physical blow. A sudden, sharp pressure exploded behind her eyes. She flinched, a low whimper escaping her as the heart monitor accelerated its frantic beeping.

"Easy now," Brenda said, her brow furrowing with concern. "It's just the post-traumatic stress. Your mind is trying to catch up with your body. Don't force it. Rest."

Diandra closed her eyes, breathing through the pain. Husband. She rolled the word around in her mind, trying to find a connection, a face, a feeling. There was nothing. Just a cold, hollow pit in her stomach where that word should have lived.

"Just rest," Brenda repeated, patting her hand gently. "Mr. Farmer's assistant will be here shortly to check on you. I'll be back to check your vitals in an hour."

The door clicked shut. Diandra stared at the ceiling, the beeping of the monitor slowly returning to a steady rhythm. Husband. Why did that word feel like a threat?

Half an hour