“…A man. He said it belonged to his wife, but she didn’t wear it anymore.”
She smiled innocently. “He said it deserved someone who’d appreciate it.”

My mouth went dry.
“What… what did he look like?”

She tilted her head. “Tall, kind of graying at the temples… wore a blue jacket the night he came by.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Said his name was Mark.”

My husband’s name.

My heart dropped like a stone. My vision blurred.
“No,” I whispered. “That can’t be. That bracelet was in my jewelry box—inside my locked closet.”

She looked puzzled. “He told me you were cleaning out old things. Said you two were… separating.”

Separating?! I clutched the bed rail, suddenly ice-cold.

Two days later, when Mark returned from his “work trip,” I asked him point-blank:
“Did you give my bracelet to a nurse at the hospital?”

He blinked. Paused.

And then…
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s talk.”

That “talk” changed everything.
Because my fall?
Wasn’t an accident.

And the nurse?

Wasn’t just a nurse.
She was the reason he wanted me gone. 😱😱😱