The taxi pulled up to our estate, and I stepped out, clutching my small overnight bag. Two weeks in the hospital had felt like a lifetime. Dr. Rodriguez had finally cleared me to return home, though I suspected Asher's influence had delayed my discharge far longer than necessary.
"Welcome home," the driver said, helping me with my bag.
Home. The word felt hollow now.
I pushed open the front door, expecting the familiar silence of our empty mansion. Instead, I froze.
Destruction greeted me.
My belongings lay scattered across the marble foyer—books torn to shreds, clothes cut into ribbons. I moved forward cautiously, my left hand trembling as I picked up a fragment of what had once been my favorite dress.
"Oh my God," I whispered.
I rushed upstairs to my bedroom. Worse devastation awaited me there. My mother's jewelry box sat open on the dresser, but the contents—her pearl necklace, her sapphire earrings—were gone. In their place was a puddle of acidic slime eating through the wood.
"No, no, no," I moaned, dropping to my knees.
The acid had dissolved everything—even the gold wedding band my father had given my mother. The only thing left intact was a diamond pendant my mother had always worn, but now it lay in the center of the corrosive pool, its setting partially melted.
"What happened here?" I demanded when I found Sloan in the library, calmly arranging flowers.
She turned, her expression a perfect mask of concern. "Anne! You're home! I was just trying to help organize your things while you were away."
"Organize?" I gestured wildly at the destruction. "This is organization?"
Sloan's eyes widened, her lower lip trembling. "I—I don't remember doing that. I had another episode." She pressed her hands to her temples. "They're getting worse. I black out and...and do things I can't control."
Before I could respond, the front door opened. Asher strode in, his expression darkening as he took in the scene.
"What's going on?" he demanded.
"Sloan destroyed everything," I said, my voice breaking. "My mother's jewelry—it's all gone."
Asher's gaze shifted between us. Sloan began to sob, her body shaking with what appeared to be genuine distress.
"I don't remember," she whimpered. "Asher, you have to believe me. I would never hurt Anne intentionally."
He moved to her side, placing a protective arm around her shoulders. "It's alright," he murmured. Then he turned to me, his eyes cold. "These accusations are disturbing, Anne. Perhaps you should speak with Dr. Rodriguez about your paranoid thoughts."
"Paranoid?" I echoed in disbelief.
---
The next morning, Sloan appeared at my bedroom door, a pair of gardening gloves in her hand.
"Your punishment," she announced with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "The garden needs attention. All of it."
"Asher agreed to this?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"Therapeutic rehabilitation," Sloan replied, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "For your prosthetic arm. Use only your left hand."
The sun beat down mercilessly as I knelt in the dirt. Hour after hour, I pulled weeds, planted flowers, and maintained the vast grounds of the estate. My left arm burned with fatigue, blisters forming on my palm.
"Wrong," Sloan called from the shade of a nearby tree. "Those aren't weeds—they're wildflowers I planted specially."
I looked up at her, sweat streaming down my face. She sat comfortably in a lounge chair, sipping lemonade.
"The roses need pruning," she added. "And the hedge along the east border needs shaping."
By mid-afternoon, my vision blurred. The sun seemed to beat through my skull. I stumbled, falling forward onto my hands and knees.
"Get up," Sloan commanded. "We're not finished yet."
"I need... water," I gasped.
"You need to finish the work," she insisted.
The world tilted sideways. I collapsed onto the grass, my body refusing to respond.
"Sloan," I whispered, "I think I'm dying."
She rushed over, but not to help me. Instead, she checked her watch and smiled. Right on cue, she began hyperventilating, clutching her chest.
"Another episode," she gasped dramatically. "Coming... now."
---
"Please," I begged, clutching the tablet displaying the experimental treatment's information. "This could save him."
Three days had passed since I'd nearly died in the garden. Now I stood before Asher in his study, desperation clawing at my throat.
My father's condition had deteriorated rapidly. The old injuries from the accident that had killed my mother were finally overwhelming his weakened system.
"The treatment is promising," I continued. "Dr. Rodriguez thinks—"
"Dr. Rodriguez isn't making decisions for this family," Asher cut me off, his voice cold.
I swallowed hard. "You control all medical decisions for my father as part of our marriage contract."
A flicker of surprise crossed his face—he hadn't expected me to know that detail.
"Yes," he confirmed, leaning back in his chair. "And I've decided the resources are better allocated elsewhere."
"But he could die," I whispered.
"Then perhaps you should have considered that before making these ridiculous accusations against Sloan."
His words hit me like a physical blow. "So this is punishment?"
"This is consequence," he corrected. "And if you attempt to circumvent my authority in this matter, I'll withdraw his current care entirely."
I stared at him, truly seeing him for the first time. The man I'd married was gone—if he'd ever existed at all.
"Understood," I said quietly, my mind racing with what this meant for my father... and for me.
