31. Monica
31
MONICA
I open my eyes to see Henry walking in, his face a mix of concern and relief. My vision's still a little blurry from the tears I didn't realize were falling. The antiseptic smell of the hospital room fills my nostrils, making this nightmare all too real.
"Hey," I manage, my voice raspy and small. The pain medication has dulled most of the physical pain, but can't touch the rage and humiliation burning inside me.
Henry crosses the room in three quick strides, his presence immediately making the sterile space feel safer. He reaches out, his thumb gently wiping away a tear tracking down my cheek.
"You okay?" he asks.
I almost laugh. Am I okay? My ankle's wrapped in a cast, my car's totaled, and my psycho ex just tried to kill me. But looking at Henry's face—those blue eyes clouded with worry—I can't bring myself to be sarcastic.
"I'm alive," I say instead. "The doctor says it's just a fractured ankle. Could've been a lot worse if I hadn't..." My voice breaks as I remember the split-second decision to swerve into that sidewalk rather than barrel through the intersection when my brakes failed.
Henry pulls a chair close to my bed, sitting down and taking my hand in his. His fingers are warm against my cold ones.
"That motherfucker is done," he says, jaw tight. "I've already called Josiah."
I squeeze his hand, anchoring myself to his strength. "I should've taken it more seriously. The texts, the restaurant... I just didn't think he'd actually?—"
"Don't," Henry cuts me off. "This isn't on you. None of it."
A nurse bustles in to check my vitals, and I fall silent, watching Henry's face. There's something different there now—a hardness I haven't seen before. It should scare me, this intensity, but instead it makes me feel protected in a way I haven't felt in years.
When we're alone again, I whisper, "I'm sorry you got dragged into my mess."
I stare at our intertwined hands, feeling the warmth of Henry's fingers against mine. My body aches, but it's the familiar ache in my chest that threatens to swallow me whole.
"You shouldn't have to deal with this," I say, pulling my hand away. "This is exactly what I was afraid of."
Henry leans forward. "Monica?—"
"No, listen to me." I shift against the hospital pillows, wincing at the pain shooting through my ankle. "Benjamin isn't going to stop. This isn't just texts or vandalism anymore. He tried to kill me, Henry. Deep down, I knew that there was this dangerous side of him. The one that will stop at nothing to tear me down with him now that I've moved on."
The words hang in the air between us, heavy and undeniable. I watch Henry's face harden again, that protective instinct I've come to recognize.
"I've seen this movie before," I continue, my voice steadier than I feel. "I spent years disappearing into Benjamin's darkness. Losing pieces of myself until I barely recognized the woman in the mirror."
I close my eyes, memories flooding back—the constant walking on eggshells, the gradual isolation from friends, the way he'd twist my words until I doubted my own sanity.
"I can't do that to you. I won't." My throat tightens. "You deserve better than being dragged into my nightmare."
"That's not your decision to make," Henry says, his voice low and firm.
But I can see it now—the strain around his eyes, the tension in his shoulders. This fake engagement has turned into something real, something dangerous. And for what? So his mother would stop matchmaking? So I could have financial stability?
"I think..." The words feel like glass in my throat. "I think we need to end this. The fake marriage. All of it."
Henry's face falls, and the pain I see there nearly breaks me. But I've been here before—caring so much for someone that I let them consume me. I won't make that mistake again, and I won't let Henry sacrifice his safety, his peace, for me.
"I'm not worth all this trouble," I whisper, the old insecurities Benjamin planted rising to the surface. "I never was."
I watch Henry's face change as I say the words. Instead of relief, I see something harden in his expression. His jaw tightens, and he shakes his head slowly.
"No," he says, standing up abruptly. The chair scrapes against the hospital floor. "No fucking way."
"Henry—" I try to reach for him, but he steps back.
"This is bullshit, Monica." His voice is intense, enough to make me flinch. "You think I'm just going to walk away because things got hard? Because that psychopath tried to hurt you?"
I blink rapidly, trying to clear the tears forming. "I'm trying to protect you."
"I don't need your protection." He runs a hand through his hair, frustration radiating from him. "What I need is for you to stop pushing me away every time you get scared."
"Henry, please understand?—"
"The drugs are making you think irrationally," he cuts me off, gesturing toward my IV drip. "You've been through trauma. You're in shock. This isn't the time to make decisions about us."
My mouth falls open. "That's not fair. I'm thinking clearly?—"
"Are you?" He steps closer, leaning down until his face is inches from mine. "Because the Monica I know doesn't give up. She doesn't let assholes like Benjamin win."
"I'm not letting him win," I protest, my voice cracking. "I'm being realistic."
Henry straightens up, his eyes never leaving mine. "I'm not giving up on us. Not now. Not when I've finally found something real."
My heart hammers in my chest, the steady beep of the monitor betraying my reaction to his words. "Henry?—"
"I'll be back tomorrow when the medication wears off," he says, already moving toward the door. His jaw is set in that stubborn way I've come to recognize. "And we can talk about how we're going to fight this together. Because I'm not letting go of you that easily, Monica. Not a fucking chance."
Before I can respond, he's gone, the door clicking shut behind him with quiet finality. I stare at the empty space where he stood, stunned by his refusal to walk away. The antiseptic smell of the hospital room feels suddenly overwhelming as his absence hits me.
No one has ever fought to stay in my life before. Not like this. Not with this kind of raw determination that makes my chest ache with something dangerously close to hope.
But if staying with him means that Benjamin is going to keep targeting us, keep escalating his sick obsession with ruining what I have, then I need to make the hard decision. The right decision. Above all else, I want Henry safe—need him safe.
And I'm not sure we can achieve that if he remains my husband, fake or otherwise.