Not until Brendan gave them a slight nod did they finally shuffle toward the door, interest fading now that the show was over. Charity went with them, her smile lingering.

I saw Brendan glance down at the bloody bite mark on his hand, hesitating. He turned toward the door—probably to find a nurse.

I spoke to his back, my voice cutting through the silence.

"I'm calling the police."

He stopped in the doorway.

When he turned around, he looked at me like I was a lunatic throwing a tantrum over nothing.

"I'm calling the police," I repeated, holding his gaze. "Everything that happened today—I'm going to the station and giving them a full statement."

Everything. Including what he had done to me.

Our eyes locked. When he saw I wasn't bluffing, his expression darkened.

He strode back to me, his voice cold as winter.

"Naomi. I told you. It was just a joke."

"If you didn't like it, just pretend it didn't happen. Move on."

"To me," I said through clenched teeth, "this was humiliation. This was being treated like I'm nothing."

I bit down hard on my lower lip, refusing to look away.

My defiance seemed to catch him off guard. For a moment, something flickered across his face—confusion, maybe. Or annoyance that I wasn't backing down.

The silence stretched until Charity's voice floated in from the hallway.

"Brendan! Come on, Tyler and the guys set up drinks. They want to celebrate with you!"

That snapped him out of it. He called back an acknowledgment.

Then he looked at me again. And smiled.

"Fine. Go ahead. Report it."

He took a step closer, his voice dropping.

"But think carefully, Naomi. You're my wife."

"Everything about you—I can share with whoever I want. The law can't touch me for that."

He tossed out those words like they weighed nothing at all. Then he turned and walked out.

I stood frozen, the inside of my cheek raw and bleeding where I'd bitten through it.

Cold. I felt cold all the way to my bones.

For the next week, Brendan didn't come to the hospital once.

Not to see me. Not to see his daughter.

I asked the nurses to help me hire a caregiver, then called my parents overseas.

The day I was discharged, they rushed back, exhaustion etched into their faces. Mom pulled me into her arms, her eyes red-rimmed with worry.

Once everything was packed up, I walked out of the hospital room—and that's when Brendan's message came through. He'd been MIA for nearly two weeks.