A sharp, stabbing pain tore through my skull. My vision spun, the pounding inside my head unbearable. With shaking hands, I reached for the nightstand, fumbling for the bottle of pain relievers. My fingers barely managed to twist the cap off before I popped two pills into my mouth, swallowing dry.

But the pain didn’t stop. A metallic taste filled my throat. My lip trembled as something warm trickled down my upper lip.

I wiped at it absentmindedly. Red. Blood.

Panic gripped my chest. My breaths came out shallow, uneven. I grabbed my phone and dialed my mother’s number.

No answer. I tried my father. Nothing. My heart pounded as I scrolled down and pressed Jason’s contact.

The call rang. Once. Twice. Then straight to voicemail.

I let out a weak, bitter laugh. Of course. Tears blurred my vision as I desperately pressed 911.

“H-hello?” My voice shook.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“I—” My body swayed. My fingers trembled as I tried to steady myself against the wall. “I need help. Please... I—”

The phone slipped from my grasp.

The last thing I heard before darkness swallowed me whole was the faint voice of the operator, calling my name.

***

Bright lights. The steady beeping of a monitor. The sharp scent of antiseptic. I woke up in a hospital bed. Alone.

A nurse walked in, startled to see me awake. “Ms. Romano, you're conscious! How are you feeling?”

My throat was dry. “How long was I out?”

“You were admitted last night,” she said gently. “The paramedics found you unconscious at home. Do you have any family we should contact?”

Family.

The word twisted like a knife inside me.

I let out a weak, hollow laugh. “No. There’s no one.”

The nurse gave me a sad look but said nothing.

The next morning, after I was discharged, I went home. The moment I stepped inside, I felt it. He’s here. And then I saw him.

Jason. Sitting on the couch like he still owned the place. Legs crossed, fingers tapping impatiently against the armrest.

My chest tightened. “What... what are you doing here?”

He stood up, pulling a stack of papers from his briefcase. A pen clipped to the top. He held it out to me.

“Sign it.”

I blinked. My fingers twitched. “What?”

His eyes were empty, void of anything remotely resembling guilt. “The divorce papers. Sign them now.”

I stared at the divorce papers in Jason’s hand, my whole body trembling.