After a horrific car accident, I was rushed straight to the hospital.
Three weeks later, my husband stormed into my room looking furious instead of relieved to see me alive.
“I’ve had enough of this act!” Caleb yelled. “Get out of that bed. I’m not wasting another dollar on you!”
Before I could understand what he intended to do, he seized my arm and tried to drag me off the mattress.
When I fought to stay where I was, he slammed both fists into my stomach.
What happened afterward changed everything.
My Husband Tried to Drag Me From a Hospital Bed After My Crash
The room smelled of antiseptic, old coffee, and clean bandages.
Beside my bed, the heart monitor kept a slow, steady rhythm that had become the only thing holding me together.
Beep. Breathe. Beep.
Both of my legs were locked inside heavy plaster casts stretching from my thighs to my feet.
My ribs were fractured, stitches were hidden beneath my hair, and my swollen wrist still carried the hospital band with my name printed across it.
REBECCA WALKER.
The letters seemed almost unnecessary.
