Chapter 3 - She was in her early forties, with dark hair pulled into a neat bun and an expression that suggested she was difficult to impress.
She introduced herself, moved a chair beside my bed, and asked whether I was comfortable enough to speak.
I told her I was.
She opened a notebook.
“Before we discuss the recording, I’d like to hear what you remember in your own words.”
I described Selina entering the house.
I described the scratch, the accusation, and Julian refusing to check the security cameras.
I told her about the knife.
My voice broke when I reached the moment he stepped over me.
Mara waited.
She didn’t tell me to hurry.
She didn’t fill the silence with reassurance.
She let me find the words.
“He wrapped his jacket around her,” I finally whispered.
Mara’s pen stopped moving.
“And after he stabbed you, did he attempt to provide medical assistance?”
“No.”
“Did he call emergency services?”
“No.”
“What did he do?”
I looked down at my hands.
“He held her.”
Mara nodded once.
Then I showed her the recording.
She listened without interrupting.
When it ended, she asked Emily to help document the condition of the watch and the file.
She explained that investigators would need to preserve the original recording, verify the timeline, and examine whether anything had been altered.
I agreed to cooperate with every step.
I wanted the recording protected more than I wanted the device returned.
“Do not send this file to friends or post it online,” Mara told me.
“We need to keep the evidence secure while we investigate.”
“I understand.”
She studied me.
“Does your husband know this exists?”
“No.”
“Does Selina?”
“No.”
“Good.
Don’t tell them.”
I looked at her.
“Are you going to arrest them?”
“We’re going to examine the evidence and act as quickly as we can,” she said.
“I won’t promise you a particular outcome before we’ve done that.”
I appreciated the answer.
Julian had spent months telling me exactly what I wanted to hear while doing whatever benefited him.
Mara didn’t offer certainty she couldn’t guarantee.
She asked about the cameras.
I told her our property had a gated entrance, exterior cameras, and a security system that logged activity.
“Julian has access to it,” I said.
“Do you?”
“Through my phone.”
“Was your phone secured at the hospital?”
I nodded toward the belongings bag.
Mara asked permission to document the account information and coordinate preservation of the footage before any recordings were overwritten.
I told her everything I knew.
Then I remembered the argument.
“I asked him to check the cameras,” I said.
“I practically begged him.”
Mara looked at me.
“Why?”
“Because I wanted him to believe me.”
The answer sounded pathetic as soon as I said it.
I had been standing in my own home, facing a lie anyone could have checked, and I had still believed that proof would matter to my husband.
Mara closed her notebook.
“Nora, evidence may help us establish what happened, but you should not have had to prove your innocence to avoid being attacked.”
I stared at her.
The simplicity of that sentence undid me.
For months, I had been trying to earn basic fairness from a man who made me feel unreasonable for wanting it.
I had defended myself through every argument.
I had explained, apologized, and searched for the perfect words that might finally make him understand.
Now I realized there had never been a perfect sentence.
Julian didn’t want an explanation.
He wanted a wife who would stop objecting.
Before leaving, Mara spoke privately with Dr.
Reed about visitor restrictions and hospital security.
She wanted Julian and Selina kept away from me while investigators worked.
But by the next morning, the necessary arrangements were still being finalized, and Julian arrived before the new restrictions had reached every desk.
He carried a paper cup of my favorite tea.
I saw him through the open doorway and felt every muscle in my body tighten.
A nurse remained nearby while he entered.
Julian smiled when he saw me.
“Good morning, sweetheart.”
I looked at the cup.
Chamomile with honey.
He remembered how I liked my tea.
The contrast almost made me sick.
He had remembered the honey but forgotten that a person should not stab his wife.
“I thought this might make you feel better,” he said.
He placed the cup on the table and sat down.
“How did you sleep?”
“Not well.”
He nodded sympathetically.
“Of course.”
For several minutes, he discussed my medication, my doctors, and the babies.
He seemed almost cheerful when he spoke about becoming a father.
“I’ve been thinking about the twins all night,” he said.
I stared at him.
He smiled sadly.
“I would have protected them if I knew.”
The words landed between us.
I felt something hot rise into my throat.
“But not me?”
His smile disappeared.
“What?”
“You would have protected them if you knew.
But not me?”
Julian leaned forward.
“Nora, that’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
He rubbed his face.
“I meant that everything got out of control.”
“How?”
He sighed.
“We’ve talked about this.”
“I know, but I’m trying to understand.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
I lowered my gaze.
“I’m sorry.
The doctors keep asking questions, and sometimes I get confused.”
He relaxed.
“Don’t apologize.”
I forced myself to continue.
“You said there was a struggle.”
“Yes.”
“And I was holding the knife?”
“That’s right.”
I touched the blanket above my wounds.
“Then how did it happen twice?”
He went still.
I watched the change in his eyes.
For the first time since he entered, he looked at me the way he had looked at me just before picking up the knife.
Not with concern.
With suspicion.
“Why are you asking me that?”
I looked frightened.
“Because the doctor said I had two wounds.”
Julian studied me.
I let my eyes fill with tears.
“I’m scared.”
That seemed to satisfy him.
His expression softened.
“Oh, Nora.”
He reached for my hand.
“I know you are.”
I allowed him to hold it.
It took everything I had not to pull away.
He leaned closer.
“The important thing is that we survived this.”
We.
I almost laughed at the word.
Only one of us had nearly died.
Only one of us was lying in a hospital bed with surgical wounds and two fragile lives to protect.
But Julian had already begun treating himself as another victim of the tragedy he caused.
When he left, the nurse quietly confirmed that his visit had been documented.
The hospital then completed the restrictions.
I thought I had survived the worst part of that day.
I was wrong.
Because Selina came to see me that afternoon.
And unlike Julian, she didn’t bother pretending for very long.
Selina appeared in my doorway wearing a pale blue dress and carrying a small arrangement of flowers.
Her hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, and her makeup was delicate enough to make her look tired without looking careless.
It was the same careful innocence she had worn into my living room.
“I’m so glad you’re awake,” she whispered.
I stared at her.
The scratch on her arm was barely visible now.
A thin pink line remained where she had claimed I viciously attacked her.
I looked at that fading mark and thought about the scars I would carry for the rest of my life.
“Are you?”
I asked.
Selina paused.
“Of course.”
She stepped inside before I invited her.
I could hear a nurse speaking with someone at the desk, and I knew I could call for help.
Still, my pulse accelerated.
Selina placed the flowers on the table.
“Julian has been beside himself.”
I didn’t answer.
“He hasn’t been sleeping.
He’s barely eating.”
I looked toward the window.
“That must be difficult for him.”
Selina studied me.
Her expression became careful.
“How much do you remember?”
There it was.
Not a question about my pain, my surgery, or whether I could stand.
She wanted to know how much danger I represented.
“Not much,” I said.
Her shoulders relaxed.
“That’s understandable.”
I looked at her.
“The doctors said trauma can affect memory.”
“Exactly.”
She nodded quickly.
“That’s what Julian told me.”
For a few seconds, I wondered whether she could hear how eager she sounded.
Then she sat beside my bed.
“Nora, I know you hate me.”
I said nothing.
“And I understand why.”
She lowered her eyes.
“Things between Julian and me were never meant to hurt you.”
I almost smiled.
There was something extraordinary about hearing those words from a woman who had watched me bleed on the floor.
“I never wanted any of this to happen,” she continued.
“Then why did it?”
Selina looked up.
“Because everyone was emotional.”
“Everyone?”
She hesitated.
“Julian was trying to protect me.”
I kept my voice quiet.
“From what?”
She glanced at my abdomen.
“From what happened downtown.”
I watched her face.
The lie had become so comfortable to her that she could repeat it without looking away.
“Did I really hurt you?”
I asked.
Selina touched her arm.
“You scratched me.”
I stared at the fading line.
“That doesn’t look very deep.”
Her expression tightened.
“It wasn’t about how deep it was, Nora.”
“What was it about?”
She leaned toward me.
“You threatened me.”
I let the silence grow.
She looked away first.
Then she sighed.
“I don’t want to argue.
You’re recovering, and the babies need you to stay calm.”
The mention of my children filled me with sudden anger.
Selina had only recently learned about them, yet she was already using their safety as a reason for me to remain quiet.
I looked straight at her.
“Why didn’t Julian call for help?”
Her eyes flickered.
“He panicked.”
The answer came too quickly.
“He thought you were dead,” she added.
I felt my skin go cold.
“How do you know what he thought?”
Selina hesitated.
“Because he told me.”
“After?”
“Yes.”
I tilted my head.
“After he left me there?”
For the first time, her expression lost its composure.
She studied me carefully.
“What do you mean?”
I looked down.
“I’m trying to understand what happened.”
Selina relaxed a little.
“Of course.”
She reached for my hand.
I moved it away.
Her smile tightened.
“Nora, you need to focus on healing.”
I looked at her for several seconds.
Then I asked the question I had been holding since she entered.
“Do you feel guilty for lying?”
The room went silent.
Selina’s face changed.
It happened so quickly that anyone who didn’t know her might have missed it.
The sadness disappeared.
The softness vanished.
She looked at me with cold, assessing eyes.
“What did you say?”
I swallowed.
“Do you feel guilty?”
She stood.
For a moment, I thought she might call Julian.
Instead, she leaned toward my bed.
“You should be very careful, Nora.”
Her voice was so quiet that it barely carried beyond us.
I looked at her.
“What do you mean?”
She smiled.
“Trauma can make people confused.”
My hands went cold.
“Especially after surgery and blood loss,” she continued.
“Memories get mixed up.”
I said nothing.
She leaned closer.
“You wouldn’t want to say something you can’t prove.”
There it was again.
The same smile she had given me while I lay on the rug.
I could almost see my blood reflected in her eyes.
For a moment, fear rose through me so violently that I wanted to scream for the nurse.
Then I remembered the recording.
Eighteen minutes and forty-three seconds.
Her own voice.
Her own instructions.
Her own words explaining how they would turn my injuries into a story about jealousy.
I looked at her without blinking.
“Maybe you’re right.”
She straightened.
“Of course I am.”
I lowered my eyes.
“I’m tired.”
Selina adjusted her handbag.
“Then rest.”
At the doorway, she paused.
“Julian really does love you, Nora.”
I looked at her.
“No,” I whispered.
“He loves believing he’s a good man.”
She seemed unsure whether she had heard me correctly.
Then she left.
The moment the door closed, I pressed the call button.
Emily appeared.
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
My voice broke.
May you like
“Please tell Detective Bennett that Selina came here.”
Emily listened while I described the conversation.
Related Stories
