As I knelt there, taking in the scene before me, everything around seemed to move in slow motion. My husband, Jason, lay in the hospital bed, looking more vulnerable than I had ever seen him. His arm was in a cast, and his face was a tapestry of cuts and bruises. Next to him lay Jessica Ramirez, the woman who had been a shadow in our marriage, a name that was whispered in passing but never acknowledged.
I was ready to confront them both, the betrayal like a bitter taste in my mouth. But then the doctor’s words echoed in my mind. “There’s another detail you need to know. And it changes everything,” he had said. The weight of those words settled heavily on my shoulders as I struggled to compose myself.
“Please, tell me what’s going on,” I finally managed to ask, my voice barely a whisper as I rose unsteadily to my feet.
