THE RETURN OF THE BROKEN HUSBAND

CHAPTER 6: THE TRUTH UNRAVELS

The hospital room was quiet when Alice pushed open the door the next morning. Sunlight streamed through the window, falling across Gregory's pale face. He turned to look at her as she entered, taking in every detail of her appearance. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her movements stiff and awkward, and her expression was twisted into something that looked like guilt wrapped in forced concern.

She approached the bed slowly, as if walking through water. When she spoke, her voice was careful and measured, each word chosen with deliberate precision.

"I've consulted with all the doctors here. They've reviewed your scans, and your spine is severely damaged," she began, her hands fidgeting with the strap of her purse. Her gaze stayed fixed on his face, searching for his reaction. "There is one surgery that might help you recover fully. But the risk is enormous. The mortality rate exceeds eighty percent."

She paused, letting the weight of that number settle between them. Her jaw clenched slightly as she continued.

"I'm hoping you won't do this surgery. Please, Gregory. I'm willing to spend the rest of my life taking care of you. We can work through this together," she whispered, reaching out to touch his hand. Her fingers trembled slightly as they made contact with his skin. "I promise you, I will be here for you."

Gregory stared at her for a long moment, and then a bitter laugh escaped his lips. It was a harsh, satirical sound that seemed to bounce off the hospital walls. His laughter was filled with something broken and dark, something that made Alice flinch.

Her expression shifted immediately. The concern drained from her face, replaced by displeasure. Her hand pulled back from his, and she straightened up, her entire body going rigid.

"What's so funny?" she asked sharply, her voice taking on an edge. Her eyes flashed with annoyance, and her lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you."

Gregory's laughter faded, but the smile on his face remained. It was a smile that didn't reach his eyes, a smile filled with bitter resignation.

"Did you find out who did this to me?" he asked quietly, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. His dark eyes fixed on hers, watching her carefully.

Alice's shoulders relaxed slightly, and she nodded. She pulled a chair closer to his bed and sat down, her posture more controlled now. But there was something in her expression that screamed she was uncomfortable with this line of questioning.

"Yes, I did. It was a drunk driver. He hit your car and then fled the scene. The police caught him based on the traffic camera footage and witness statements," she said, her words coming out in a rush. She was speaking too quickly, the words tumbling over each other. "I've already hired the best lawyer. He will be sentenced to more than ten years in prison for hit and run and attempted murder."

Gregory let out a mocking laugh that sounded like breaking glass. His head tilted back against the pillows, and his eyes closed for a moment. When he opened them again and looked at Alice, his expression was one of profound disappointment.

"A drunk driver," he repeated, his voice flat and hollow. His fingers curled into fists against the white hospital sheets. "You're telling me that a random drunk driver just happened to hit me on purpose. He just happened to take photos as proof of the job being done."

Alice's face went pale. She couldn't meet his eyes anymore. Her gaze darted away, looking at the monitors beside his bed, at the window, at her own hands clasped tightly in her lap. Everywhere except for his face.

"This is the best possible outcome we could hope for," she said weakly, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers picked at a thread on her sleeve, a nervous habit that screamed guilt. "A conviction means justice. It means he will be punished."

Gregory's voice dropped to something cold and sharp when he spoke again.

"You know exactly who the real culprit is, Alice. You know perfectly well it wasn't some random drunk driver," he said, his words precise and cutting. His eyes bore into hers, demanding the truth she was so desperately trying to hide. "And you're choosing to protect them instead of protecting me."

Alice's face crumpled slightly. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. But no words came out. She couldn't lie to him directly. She couldn't meet his eyes and fabricate another story.

"You're just being overly sensitive and paranoid," she finally said, her voice taking on a desperate quality. She looked at him now, and her eyes pleaded with him to accept her explanation. "You like conspiracy theories. You jump to conclusions. This is reality, Gregory. Sometimes bad things just happen to good people."

Before Gregory could respond, Alice's phone suddenly buzzed. She pulled it from her purse with trembling hands. When she looked at the screen, her entire body went rigid.

Robert Carnegie's name flashed across the display.

Gregory saw it. His lips curled back in a disdainful sneer, and his eyes went cold as ice. The sneer was filled with contempt and bitterness and the realization of what Alice was really doing. His hands clenched into fists so tight his nails drew blood from his palms.

Alice's face flushed red. She frantically swiped at the screen to decline the call, her movements panicked and clumsy. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps as she stuffed the phone back into her purse.

"I have things I need to attend to at the company. Important matters that can't wait," she said hurriedly, standing up so quickly the chair scraped loudly against the floor. Her voice was high and strained, and her entire body language screamed that she was lying. "I need to go. I'll come back tonight to check on you."

She didn't wait for him to respond. She turned and hurried toward the door, her heels clicking rapidly against the tile floor. When she reached the doorway, she paused for just a moment, her hand on the frame. Her shoulders were tense, her head down. Then she rushed out into the hallway without looking back.

Gregory watched her go, and as soon as the door closed behind her, the weight of everything crashed down on him all at once. Alice was protecting Robert . She was lying to his face, fabricating stories about drunk drivers, and when Robert called, she ran. She actually ran away from her husband lying paralyzed in a hospital bed to answer a call from the man who had done this to him.

The realization was worse than any physical pain he could experience. His wife had chosen Robert over him. She had chosen the lie over the truth. She had chosen to protect the man who had shattered his life rather than stand by the man she had promised to love forever.

Gregory lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. His legs were useless, his body was broken, and the one person who was supposed to be on his side was actively working against him. The darkness that had been creeping at the edges of his mind since he woke up in this hospital bed finally swallowed him whole.

He reached for his phone with shaking hands and scrolled through his recent calls. There was one number there—the one he had called last night, the cold female voice on the other end who had promised to come.

He had been foolish to think Alice would help him. He had been naive to believe that she might actually find the culprit and bring them to justice.

But someone else would. Someone else would make sure that Robert Carnegie paid for what he had done.

Gregory's finger hovered over the call button, and his jaw tightened with grim determination. The man he had been before the accident was dying. Someone else was being born in his place. Someone harder. Someone colder. Someone who understood that in this world, you couldn't trust anyone, and you had to take justice into your own hands.

He closed his eyes and waited for the woman to arrive.