The Secret Wife Makes A Spectacular Comeback

The hospital room was quiet except for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. Emily had gone to get coffee, her face still etched with guilt. Carma lay in the bed, staring at the IV drip in her arm, wishing she could rip it out and run.

The door clicked open.

Carma expected a nurse. Instead, Kendall Kirby walked in. He was wearing a baseball cap pulled low and dark sunglasses, looking like a cliché of a celebrity trying to hide.

He stopped at the foot of the bed, his lip curling in disgust. "Well, you really did it this time, didn't you?"

Carma pushed herself up against the pillows, her body screaming in protest. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm doing damage control," Kendall snapped, pulling off his sunglasses. His eyes were cold. "Imagine my surprise when I get a call from my lawyer saying my wife is in the ER after a suicide attempt. Are you trying to ruin me?"

"I didn't attempt suicide," Carma said, her voice weak but firm. "It was an allergic reaction."

"Right." Kendall scoffed, walking closer to the bed. "A convenient allergy. You're pathetic, Carma. You think swallowing a bottle of pills is going to make me change my mind? It just makes you look desperate."

The words hit her like a slap. She had almost died. And the only thing he cared about was his image.

"You think I did this for you?" she asked, a bitter laugh escaping her lips.

"I know you did," Kendall said, leaning over her. "And it's not going to work. You can threaten me with lawyers, you can try to kill yourself, but I am not staying married to you. Not for a second longer."

He paused, his eyes narrowing. "You know, I used to feel sorry for you. The poor little orphan from Ohio. But now I see you for what you really are. You're just like your mother. A weak, pathetic drunk who would rather die in a ditch than take responsibility for her own life."

The air left the room.

Carma's mother had died in a car accident when Carma was sixteen. She had been driving home from a double shift. She was tired. She was not a drunk. Kendall knew that. He had heard the story a hundred times. And he was using it to hurt her.

Something inside Carma snapped.

The grief, the humiliation, the fear-it all burned away, leaving nothing but pure, white-hot rage.

She sat up straight, ignoring the pain that lanced through her chest. She grabbed the IV needle in her arm and yanked it out.

Blood spurted from the vein, dripping onto the white sheets.

"Carma, what the hell are you-" Kendall stepped back, his eyes wide.

She didn't stop. She threw the blankets off and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her bare feet hit the cold linoleum floor. She stood up, swaying slightly, but her eyes never left his face.

"Say that again," she whispered, her voice shaking with fury. "Say that about my mother again."

Kendall recovered his composure, sneering at her. "What? The truth hurts? Your cheap little act doesn't work on me, Carma. You're nothing but a worthless charity case."

Carma smiled. It was a terrifying, hollow smile. Tears streamed down her face, but she was laughing.

"You're right, Kendall," she said, her voice rising. "I shouldn't have tried to kill myself. That would be too easy on you."

She took a step toward him, her blood dripping onto the floor. Kendall actually flinched.

"I'm going to live," she said, her eyes burning into his. "I'm going to live, and I'm going to thrive, and I am going to watch you fall. I'm going to watch everyone realize that the great Kendall Kirby is a fraud. And when you're lying in the gutter, I'm going to walk right over you."

Kendall stared at her, his face pale. He had never seen this look in her eyes before. She wasn't the quiet, compliant wife anymore. She was a stranger, and she was dangerous.

"You came here because you're scared," Carma continued, stepping even closer. "You're scared that I'm going to tell the world what a monster you are. You should be. But you should be scared of so much more. You have no idea what you've thrown away, Kendall. You're going to find out that the 'stain' you despise was the only thing holding your gilded cage together. Now get out."

Kendall's phone rang in his pocket, the shrill tone breaking the tension. He fumbled to answer it, his eyes still on Carma. It was Marcus, his agent, screaming about the Xen deal falling apart.

Kendall backed away toward the door, his face a mask of shock and fear. He turned and practically ran out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

He stormed down the hallway, his mind racing. He had to get out of there. He had to think. He rounded the corner at a fast clip, his head down, and slammed right into a solid wall of muscle and cotton.

Papers exploded into the air. A metal clipboard clattered to the floor.

"Watch where you're going," Kendall snapped, rubbing his shoulder.

The man he had collided with looked up. He was tall, wearing scrubs. He had dark hair and cold, piercing blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. He was holding a now-empty coffee cup, the lid popped off.

Dr. Arvel Hurst stared at the man who had just knocked his charts out of his hands. He recognized him instantly. Kendall Kirby. The actor. The husband of the woman in room 402.

Arvel had heard the shouting from down the hall. He had heard the words "pathetic" and "drunk."

He pushed his glasses up his nose, his expression unreadable. "Mr. Kirby. I suggest you watch your tone. And your speed. This is a hospital, not a red carpet."

Kendall glared at him, then pushed past, disappearing down the stairwell.

Arvel watched him go, a strange feeling settling in his gut. He bent down to pick up his scattered papers. The woman in 402 was an overdose. A desperate housewife. That was the story.

But the man who had just run into him didn't look like a grieving husband. He looked like a bully.

Arvel frowned, stacking the charts. Maybe he had missed something.