Falling Into My Husband's Arms

The dull ache where the IV needle pierced the skin on the back of her hand forced Audra Mcgowan back to reality.

She gasped, her lungs struggling to pull in the sterile, air-conditioned oxygen of the hospital room. When she tried to open her eyes, they met only the unyielding pressure of a hard protective shield layered over thick medical gauze. The physical barrier sent a sudden, violent wave of claustrophobia crashing into her chest, a stark confirmation of the terrifying truth: she was completely blind.

Lifting her right hand to claw at the bandages, Audra felt the movement yank the plastic tubing taped to her skin. Another jolt of pain shot up her arm. She dropped her hand back onto the stiff mattress, her breathing erratic.

The squeak of rubber-soled shoes against the linoleum floor echoed loudly in the dead silence as the heavy door of the private room pushed open.

"Mrs. Hartman, you are awake," a female voice said, the nurse's tone strictly professional. "The retina repair surgery was a complete success. Are you experiencing any severe nausea?"

"No," Audra whispered, her throat feeling as if it were coated in dry sand.

"Good. Would you like me to contact your family? Or your husband?"

"No." Audra's response was immediate, her fingers curling into tight fists against the bedsheets. "Please, don't call anyone."

"Understood. Press the call button if you need anything."

The nurse left, the door clicking shut behind her. The silence returned, heavier this time, pressing down on Audra’s collarbones with the sheer weight of her isolation as she lay in the absolute dark.

Suddenly, a harsh, buzzing vibration erupted from the nightstand. Audra jumped, her heart hammering against her ribs. She reached out blindly toward the sound. Her fingertips brushed against hard plastic, and then she heard the splash as cold water spilled across the wooden table and dripped onto her bare wrist. Ignoring the wetness, her hand frantically felt around until her fingers closed over the cold metal of her smartphone.

She couldn’t see the screen. She swiped her thumb across the glass three times before the vibration finally stopped.

"Audra."

The voice on the other end wasted not a single second. It was Herminia, her mother, her tone sharp enough to cut glass.

"Do you have any idea how stupid you made us look today?" Herminia demanded.

Squeezing her eyes shut beneath the gauze, Audra murmured, "Mom, I just got out of surgery. I can't see anything right now."

"Stop making excuses," Herminia snapped, cutting her off completely. "You missed the foundation brunch. The Wall Street investors are already questioning the internal stability of Homestead Markets. You being sick right now is a pathetic display of irresponsibility."

The words felt like a bucket of ice water poured directly over her head. Her own mother didn't ask how the surgery went. She didn't ask if she was in pain.

"I had a torn retina," Audra said, her voice trembling. She hated how weak she sounded.

"I don't care," Herminia fired back. "You need to end this pointless vacation immediately."

Audra's stomach dropped.

"You need to go to your husband," Herminia ordered, her voice dropping into a low, suffocating register. "You need to get pregnant, Audra. A Hartman heir is the only thing that will secure our trust fund. You need to sleep with Jakobe tonight."

A violent spasm ripped through Audra's stomach. The sheer physical disgust made her want to throw up. She thought of the hundred-page prenuptial agreement sitting in her safe, of the bold black ink and the specific clause that strictly prohibited any emotional entanglement. Jakobe Hartman was a human algorithm who looked at their marriage as a corporate merger.

"I am not doing that," Audra said, forcing her voice to stay cold and level. "That wasn't part of the deal."

Herminia let out a cruel laugh. "If you don't do exactly as I say, I will personally see to it that you are stripped of your board seat at Homestead Markets."

Audra stopped breathing. Her grandfather's company. The only reason she was still fighting. The only thing keeping her alive.

Before Audra could say another word, the line went dead, the dial tone humming loudly against her ear. Her arm went entirely limp. The phone slipped from her fingers and landed on the carpet with a dull thud.

She bit down on her lower lip, so hard she tasted the metallic tang of her own blood. She could not let them win. She could not let the board members know she was sitting in a clinic, blind and helpless.

Reaching out, she fumbled for the plastic call button clipped to her pillow and pressed it hard.

"Yes, Mrs. Hartman?" the speaker crackled.

"I need you to upgrade my security," Audra said, her voice shaking but resolute. "No visitors. No phone calls. Nobody comes in here."

"Right away, ma'am."

The intercom clicked off. In the dark, Audra pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. Finally, a single, hot tear soaked into the thick white gauze.