Revenge Wears Red

My eyes opened slowly, greeted by the rhythmic beeping of a machine beside me. Everything was blurry at first—white lights, sterile walls, shadows moving too fast. I blinked against the haze, trying to make sense of it all. Then, a flurry of movement. Doctors. Nurses. Voices muffled like I was underwater. Hands touched my arm, someone called my name. And just like that, the darkness pulled me under again. The next time I woke, silence greeted me. The room was empty. Too quiet. I sat up slowly, every muscle trembling, my breath shallow like I’d forgotten how to breathe. What… what was going on? My hands trembled as I lifted them into view. Pale. Weak. Bandaged. A chill danced down my spine. Why was I in a hospital? The door creaked open. A man in a white coat stepped inside, a nurse trailing behind him. His eyes met mine—calm, practiced, clinical. "Mrs. Conner," he called. Just then it clicked. It all came rushing in. The screech of tires. The blinding lights. The crash. I had been in an accident. That was most likely why I was in the hospital. My head throbbed as I sat up straighter, eyes darting around the empty room. Where was everyone? Surely the hospital would’ve called my family by now. Maybe they were on their way. Maybe I’d open the door and find them waiting—my mother, my sister… my husband. Home. The word felt warm in my chest. Familiar. Safe. I smiled faintly at the thought of him walking in, worried sick, ready to hold me. “I’m very delighted that you’re awake, Mrs. Conner,” he said with a polite smile. But something in his tone… it wasn’t relief. It was formal. Detached. I blinked. “Where is my husband? Has anyone called him?” The man exchanged a look with the nurse, and the air in the room shifted, just slightly. “Perhaps… we should talk,” he said. “We reached out to your family,” the doctor said, his voice gentle, as if preparing me for something I wouldn’t want to hear. “But... no one has responded yet. We’ll wait a little longer, a day or two at most. After that, we may need to discharge you.” I blinked, struggling to absorb his words. No response? That didn’t make sense. I looked down at my trembling hands resting in my lap, trying to stop the sudden surge of panic tightening my chest. My heart thudded, loud and uneven. “No one?” I whispered. “Are you sure?” The doctor gave me a sympathetic nod. “I’m sorry.” I turned my gaze to the window. The sky outside was soft and golden, like nothing had changed. “What happened?” I asked. “How long has it been since the accident?” The doctor paused for a moment, then met my eyes. “Two years.” Silence dropped in the room. Two years? My breath caught. My lips parted, but no words came. Two years of my life, gone? My throat tightened with a thousand unspoken questions. The world felt too loud and too quiet all at once. I had been in a coma. Obviously. And for two years. I looked at the IV line in my arm, at the wires hooked to machines I couldn’t understand. I should’ve felt grateful to be alive, but all I felt was the weight of absence. Where was everyone? Where was my husband? A flicker of hope pierced the confusion. He must be at work. That’s all. He probably visits every day. Maybe he just stepped out, maybe he’s on his way now. My heart clung to the idea like a lifeline. A fragile smile curved my lips. “He’ll come,” I whispered, more to myself than anyone else. The doctor didn’t respond. He just checked the monitors quietly and respectfully. Just like that, three long days passed, and I was still in the sterile, cold confines of the hospital. No visitors. No messages. No one came to check on me, not even a simple 'how are you?' At first, I told myself I was being paranoid, that everyone was busy or maybe it was all just a misunderstanding. But deep down, I knew something was wrong. I was beyond worried. What was going on? Why had no one come? The doctor’s words echoed in my mind: "You're free to go." They discharged me without much ceremony, and the hospital handed me a simple dress, a pity gift for someone who had been here too long. I took a shaky breath as I stepped out of the building, my legs trembling beneath me. I hadn’t walked in two years. My muscles protested, my body feeling foreign, like it belonged to someone else. Every step felt like an eternity, and yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Standing on the curb, I was utterly lost. No phone. No credit card. I couldn’t even remember how I got here in the first place. I was stranded, alone. As the hours passed, the sun dipped lower, and the evening air grew chillier. And then, as if fate was offering a small mercy, the doctor appeared again. "Mrs. Conner," he called, his voice gently breaking through my daze. I turned to him, unsure if I even recognized myself anymore. "You’ve been out here since morning?" His tone was a mix of concern and disbelief. I nodded, biting my lip to keep from breaking down. He ran a hand through his hair, clearly troubled by something, but after a moment of thought, he sighed. "I’ll give you a ride home. Do you remember your address?" I nodded again, my throat tight with so many unasked questions. Finally, someone was offering help. I stepped into his car, the cool leather seat feeling strange against my skin. The engine roared to life, but my mind was elsewhere—spinning with questions that clawed at me. Where was my husband? Why hadn’t he come? Why didn’t he respond when the hospital called? Was he even looking for me? Or had he simply...left me here to die? I glanced out of the window, my heart heavy with questions as the car sped away, and the world blurred past. After an hours-long drive, we finally reached the mansion, his mansion. My heart clenched at the sight of it, towering and familiar, untouched by time. I could never forget this address. Every detail was etched into my memory, from the ivy crawling up the stone walls to the elegant arch over the front door. This was where our new life had begun. I still remembered the wedding, the way we had returned here, laughing and glowing, wrapped in the warmth of promises and hope. He had carried me over the threshold, whispering that this would be our forever. I sighed at the memory, my eyes stinging with unshed emotion. He’ll be inside, I told myself. He’ll be surprised, maybe even overwhelmed. But he’ll be happy to see me... won’t he? The car came to a stop. I stepped out slowly, whispering a quiet "thank you" to the doctor, though my voice trembled. He gave me a solemn nod and drove away, leaving me alone with a thousand thoughts and a heart full of hope. With that hopeful thought, I walked up to the front door and reached for the handle. Locked. My smile faltered. That was... unusual. I pressed the doorbell. Once. Twice. A pause. No answer. My brows furrowed. I rang again. And again. My finger hovered before I pressed it once more—desperate now, anxious. And then, finally, I heard the sound. Click. The door slowly creaked open. My heart raced in anticipation, a smile creeping back onto my face. But the moment the door swung wider, my breath caught. My smile vanished. "Veronica?" The name slipped from my lips like a ghost. My sister stood in the doorway. My heart thundered in my chest. A ringing filled my ears, sharp and sudden, like I’d been struck with a hammer. Then I saw it. Her belly. Swollen. Pregnant. I staggered back, breath catching in my throat. No. No, this can’t be real. “What… what are you doing here?” I managed to ask, though my voice barely held together. But the truth was already sinking in, cold and cruel.