9. Jules
— ? —
Jules
I wake up to sunlight streaming through the hospital window and pain radiating from everywhere.
My head pounds, my ribs ache with every breath, my leg throbs despite the cast, and my hands still feel like they’re burning.
But I’m alive, and that’s more than I expected on the floor of that bathroom.
The first thing I do is look at the window in my door.
Harry is there, still in the same ruined clothes and still unshaven. He’s asleep now, with his head tilted back against the wall and his arms crossed over his chest. Even in sleep his jaw is tight and his posture is rigid.
I hate that my first instinct is to worry about his back. He’s been sitting in that chair for almost two days now, and he’s going to be in agony when he wakes up.
That’s not my problem. He’s not my problem, and nothing about him is my concern anymore.
I turn away from the window and try to sit up.
The movement sends pain lancing through my ribs, but I manage to get upright with help from the bed controls. I’m panting by the time I’m done, and my vision is swimming at the edges.
My phone is on the bedside table. My sister’s number is programmed in, and I need to call her again and hear her voice, and tell her I’m okay now that I can actually form sentences.
I reach for the phone, and my bandaged hand won’t close around it.
I try again, adjusting my grip, but my fingers won’t cooperate. The gauze is too thick and my palms are too damaged. Every time I try to pick up the phone, it slips out of my grasp and clatters back onto the table.
Frustration builds in my chest. I can’t hold a phone, I can’t hold a cup, and I can’t do anything for myself.
I’m still struggling with the phone when a doctor comes in, a young woman with dark hair and a kind smile.
“Mrs. Winslow, good morning. I’m the doctor looking after you.” She checks the monitors and makes notes on her tablet. “How are you feeling?”
“Frustrated.”
“That’s understandable. You’ve been through a significant trauma.
” She sets down the tablet and looks at me directly.
“I wanted to talk to you about your recovery. Your concussion symptoms should resolve within a week or so, and your ribs will heal on their own with rest. The burns on your hands are going to need careful attention, and we’ll be changing the dressings daily, but they should heal well without grafting. ”
“And my leg?”
“The break was clean, which is good news. You’ll be in the cast for the first few weeks and then a walking boot, and you’ll need physical therapy to get your full mobility back.”
“How long do I have to stay here?”
“We’d like to keep you for about two weeks, to make sure there are no complications from the smoke inhalation, monitor the burns and get you started on basic PT.
” She pauses. “Do you have someone who can help you when you go home? With the burns on your hands, you’re going to need assistance with daily tasks for a while. ”
I think about Harry sitting in that chair in the hallway. I think about our house, our bed, our life together.
“I’ll figure it out,” I say.
She nods. “I’ll check in on you again this afternoon. In the meantime, try to rest.”
A nurse comes in a few minutes after she leaves, a younger woman I don’t recognize, and helps me adjust the pillows behind my back.
She fills the cup on my bedside table and positions the straw where I can reach it.
My hands are still too bandaged to hold anything, but if I lean forward, I can drink on my own.
When she leaves, I look down at my hands.
The white gauze is thick and clumsy, wrapping around my palms and between my fingers. Underneath, I know, are burns, blisters and raw skin from the door handle, from pounding on the window, from trying to claw my way out of a room that was filling with smoke.
I look at my left hand, and my ring finger is bare.
The realization comes slowly. My engagement ring and my wedding band are both gone.
I don’t remember them being taken off. I remember the bathroom, the smoke and the window, and then almost nothing, except a few seconds of Harry’s face above mine in the ambulance, and turning away from it.
Someone must have cut my rings off while I was unconscious. My fingers were probably swelling, and they needed to remove them before they did damage.
But the result is the same. My finger is bare for the first time since he proposed, and I stare at my naked hand for a long time.
The bracelet he gave me is still on my wrist, above the gauze. A nurse asked me yesterday if I wanted it off, and I said no before I’d even thought about why.
***
Hazel arrives mid morning.
She knocks gently on the door and waits for me to nod before coming in. She’s wearing a simple dress and comfortable shoes, with her gray hair pinned back from her face. She looks tired, as though she didn’t sleep much last night, but her eyes are warm.
“Jules, sweetheart.” She comes to my bedside and rests her hand on my shoulder. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I got hit by a building.”
“I imagine so.” She sits down in the chair that Harry was using and pulls it closer to the bed. “I came as soon as Harry called me. I got here around three this morning.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You were resting. I didn’t want to disturb you.” She pats my arm. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”
I should keep it to myself. I should lock my feelings away and deal with this on my own, the way I’ve always dealt with everything.
But Hazel has always been kind to me. She’s the closest thing to a mother-in-law I have, and she’s never been anything but supportive.
“I’m done,” I say.
Hazel’s eyebrows rise slightly. “Done?”
“With this marriage. With being told I’m jealous or paranoid or overreacting.
” My voice cracks despite my best efforts.
“Avery locked me in that bathroom. She stood outside the door and made a nasty little crack about my presentation, as if the whole thing was funny. And then she walked away and left me to burn.”
“I know. Harry told me.”
“And where was he? Outside, with her. While I was screaming his name, he was standing on the sidewalk letting her hang off his arm.”
“Jules…”
“Maybe he didn’t know I was still inside.
Maybe Avery told him I was fine. But that’s the whole point, isn’t it?
He believed her. He’s always believed her.
For two years I’ve been telling him that she was a problem, and he’s made excuses and dismissed me and made me feel crazy for seeing what was right in front of my face.
” I take a shaky breath. “I’m tired, Hazel. I’m so tired.”
Hazel doesn’t argue. She doesn’t try to defend Harry or make excuses for him. She just sits there with her hand on my arm, and her expression is sad and understanding.
“I should have pushed harder,” she says finally.
“What?”
“I knew Avery clung too hard to Harry. I’ve known it since she was seven years old and first came to the home.
I tried to talk to him about it, many times over the years.
I told him he needed to let her stand on her own, and that his guilt about getting out and doing well wasn’t doing either of them any favors.
” She sighs. “He never listened. And I should have pushed harder. I should have made him see what was happening before it got this far.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“No, it’s not. But I feel like I failed you anyway.” She squeezes my arm gently. “For what it’s worth, I’m here for you. Whatever you decide and whatever happens next, I’m here. Not as Harry’s family. As yours.”
My throat tightens. “Thank you.”
Hazel stands and leans down to kiss my forehead. “Get some rest. I’m going to go finish the conversation I started with that boy at three this morning.”
She walks out, and she leaves the door open behind her.
I can see her stop in front of Harry’s chair. He’s awake now and on his feet, and his face is haggard and drawn.
I can hear every word.
“Harry.” Hazel’s voice is calm but firm.
“I went easy on you last night because you could barely stand up. I’m not going to now.
I’ve known you since the police brought you to my door as a baby.
I’ve watched you grow into a man, build a life, build a company.
I’ve been proud of you more times than I can count. ”
“Hazel…”
“I’m not finished.” She holds up a hand.
“I’ve also watched you make the same mistake over and over again with Avery.
I warned you, Harry, many times. I told you to stop carrying her.
I told you that protecting her from every consequence wasn’t helping her, it was crippling her. And it was hurting you.”
Harry is silent. He’s clenching his teeth and his hands are at his sides, but he doesn’t argue.
“I watched you put Avery’s feelings ahead of your wife’s,” Hazel continues. “Every time there was a conflict, every time Jules raised a concern, you took Avery’s side. You made excuses for her. You told your wife she was being jealous or paranoid. You made her feel like she was the problem.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Do you understand what that does to a person? To be dismissed over and over again by the man who’s supposed to love her more than anyone else in the world?”
Harry’s voice is rough and controlled, but I can hear the strain underneath. “I made mistakes. I made a lot of mistakes.”
“Mistakes.” Hazel shakes her head. “That woman almost killed your wife. And the only reason she got close enough to do it is because you kept her in your life over Jules’ objections for two years.”
“I love Jules more than anything.” The words come out hoarse. “More than the company, more than the money, more than my own life. She’s everything to me.”
“Then why didn’t you listen to her?”
Harry doesn’t answer.
“Your wife should have come first,” Hazel says quietly. “From the very beginning. From the moment you married her, she should have been your priority. Not Avery. Not your guilt about the past. Her.”
“Avery’s out of my life. I cut her off. She doesn’t have access to anything anymore.”
Hazel takes her time answering.
Then she says, “It’s too late.”
I see Harry flinch, and I see his jaw tighten. But he doesn’t argue, and he doesn’t try to defend himself.
Hazel says one more thing, too low for me to hear. Then she walks toward the elevator, and Harry watches her go.
When she’s gone, he turns toward my room, and our eyes meet through the open door.
He looks terrible, unshaven and exhausted, with his suit rumpled and stained. But his eyes are clear and his jaw is set, and there’s a grim determination in his expression that I recognize.
He walks toward my room and stops in the doorway.
“Can I come in?”
I should say no. I should tell him to go away, that I meant what I said last night, that I don’t want to see him.
Instead, I nod.
He comes in slowly and carefully, and stops at the foot of my bed. He doesn’t try to touch me and he doesn’t sit down. He just stands there, looking at me.
“Let me fix this,” he says.
I look at him for a long moment, at this man I married, this man I loved, this man who couldn’t choose me when I needed him most.
“I want a divorce,” I say.
Harry goes very still. His jaw tightens, and his hands clench at his sides.
“No,” he says.