Chapter 2 - The Woman Wearing My NecklaceThe first thing I remember about New Year's Day was the sound of a machine beeping beside my bed.
The second was a nurse asking whether I had someone who could make medical decisions for me.
"My husband," I whispered.
She hesitated.
"We've tried reaching him."
"He's busy."
The words escaped before I could stop them.
The nurse's expression softened, but she didn't say anything.
Her name was Angela Torres, and she was the kind of woman who could make an uncomfortable hospital room feel a little less frightening simply by pulling up a chair.
"Miriam, do you have another family member we can call?"
I thought of my mother.
She had died four years earlier.
My father had been gone since I was nineteen.
Conrad had spent eleven years slowly convincing me that the friends I once considered family were unnecessary distractions.
There was only one person left.
"My sister," I whispered.
"What's her name?"
"Rachel Morgan."
I hadn't spoken to Rachel in almost eight months.
Not since Conrad accused her of interfering in our marriage.
Not since she told me, with tears in her eyes, that he was making me smaller every year.
I had defended him.
Now I could barely breathe.
Angela handed me the phone.
Rachel answered on the fourth ring.
"Miriam?"
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I heard the fear in her voice.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm in the hospital."
"Which hospital?"
"St. Catherine's."
"What happened?"
I tried to explain.
But when I reached the part about Conrad leaving me at the ferry terminal, my voice broke.
Rachel didn't ask why I had stayed with him.
She didn't remind me of anything she'd warned me about.
She simply said, "I'm coming."
Then the line disconnected.
By seven that morning, doctors had diagnosed me with severe pneumonia complicated by sepsis.
The infection had spread beyond my lungs.
My blood pressure was dangerously low, and my kidneys were showing signs of acute injury.
I knew enough from years of working in corporate finance to understand numbers.
But watching my oxygen level fall on a monitor was different from analyzing spreadsheets.
Those numbers belonged to me.
And they were moving in the wrong direction.
Dr. Ellis explained that I needed intravenous antibiotics, oxygen, fluids, and extremely close monitoring.
"Your body is fighting a serious infection," he said. "We also found some unusual abnormalities that require further investigation."
"What abnormalities?"
He chose his words carefully.
"Inflammation around your heart. And changes in your blood counts."
I stared at him.
"Is that bad?"
"It can be. Right now, our priority is stabilizing you."
I looked toward the door.
"Has my husband called?"
Dr. Ellis glanced at Angela.
"No, ma'am."
I turned my face toward the window.
Outside, snow was falling.
Rachel arrived just after eight.
She rushed into my room wearing mismatched gloves, an oversized coat, and the same expression she'd worn when we were children and she found me bleeding after a bicycle accident.
She stopped at the foot of my bed.
"Oh, Miriam."
I tried to smile.
She covered her mouth.
Then she crossed the room and wrapped her arms around me as carefully as possible.
"I'm here," she whispered.
I hadn't realized how desperately I needed those words.
Rachel was thirty-eight, a high school principal in Connecticut, and the most stubborn person I'd ever known.
She also had a husband, two children, and a life full of responsibilities.
Yet she'd dropped everything.
"Where's Conrad?" she asked.
I looked away.
Rachel closed her eyes.
"Tell me."
I told her everything.
The ferry terminal.
The locked doors.
The scarf.
Vanessa's name on his phone.
When I finished, Rachel stood very still.
"He left you outside?"
I nodded.
"With a fever?"
"Yes."
"And he knew you were sick?"
"Rachel, please."
Her eyes filled with tears.
"I'm not angry at you."
She brushed my hair away from my damp forehead.
"I'm angry that somebody taught you to apologize for needing help."
I started crying.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just a quiet, exhausted kind of crying that made my chest hurt.
Rachel stayed beside me until I fell asleep.
At eleven that morning, Conrad posted a photograph on social media.
I didn't see it immediately.
Rachel did.
She was sitting beside my bed when her phone buzzed.
Her expression changed so sharply that I noticed.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Rachel."
She stared at the screen.
Then she turned it toward me.
Conrad stood on the upper deck of a private yacht.
The Manhattan skyline glittered behind him.
Vanessa Cole stood at his side wearing a shimmering gold dress.
Her hand rested against his chest.
Around her neck hung a diamond necklace.
My diamond necklace.
The one my mother had given me on my wedding day.
The photograph's caption read:
New year. New beginnings. Finally choosing happiness.
My stomach dropped.
I knew that necklace.
Three delicate diamonds arranged like falling stars.
My mother had purchased it after saving for almost two years.
"Maybe it's similar," I whispered.
Rachel enlarged the photograph.
On the bottom diamond was a tiny gold setting shaped like a leaf.
A custom design.
There was no mistaking it.
"That's Mom's necklace," Rachel said.
I closed my eyes.
Conrad had once told me I shouldn't wear it because it looked old-fashioned.
Two weeks earlier, he'd offered to have it professionally cleaned while I was in London.
I had thanked him.
Now it hung around his mistress's throat.
Rachel set her phone down.
"We're documenting everything."
"Why?"
"Because this isn't just about cheating anymore."
Before I could answer, Angela entered carrying a medication tray.
She took one look at my face.
"What happened?"
Rachel showed her the photograph.
Angela said nothing about Conrad.
She simply checked my oxygen and helped me sit more comfortably.
Then she noticed that my breathing had become faster.
"Miriam, look at me."
I tried.
"Slow breaths."
But the air wouldn't go deep enough.
The monitor began alarming.
Angela pressed a button.
Within seconds, two nurses entered.
Rachel stepped back.
"What's happening?"
My vision blurred.
Someone increased my oxygen.
Dr. Ellis appeared and listened to my chest.
"Prepare for transfer to intensive care."
I tried to call Rachel's name.
Instead, I began coughing.
The pain was sharp and terrifying.
"Her pressure is dropping," someone said.
Rachel reached for my hand.
"I'm right here!"
I saw fear spread across her face.
Then everything became distant.
Conrad spent January 1 at a luxury hotel overlooking Central Park.
At 4:16 p.m., Vanessa sent him a photograph of herself wearing my necklace.
Do you think she suspects anything?
He replied:
She suspects everything. She just never does anything about it.
Vanessa sent a laughing emoji.
Then another message.
What if she comes home early?
Conrad wrote:
She won't. Miriam always waits for me to decide when we're talking again.
He set down his phone and ordered champagne.
At 6:42 p.m., Rachel called him.
He declined.
She called again.
He silenced his phone.
When she left a voicemail saying his wife was in intensive care, Conrad listened to the first six seconds.
Then he deleted it.
He believed Rachel was exaggerating.
He believed I was trying to ruin his holiday.
And most importantly, he believed I would be waiting at home whenever he finally decided to return.
That evening, however, Dr. Ellis approached Rachel with a question nobody had asked before.
"Has your sister been experiencing unexplained fatigue, fevers, or bruising for several months?"
Rachel frowned.
"Actually, yes."
"Has she lost weight?"
"Quite a bit."
Dr. Ellis exchanged a serious glance with another physician.
"We need to investigate something."
Rachel gripped the back of her chair.
"What?"
"We've found abnormalities that may not be explained by pneumonia alone."
He paused.
"We're consulting hematology."
Rachel looked through the glass wall of my room.
I lay surrounded by machines, unaware that the danger had become much larger than anyone imagined.
"Doctor," she whispered, "are you saying my sister might have cancer?"
May you like
He didn't answer immediately.
And that silence frightened her more than anything else.
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