Chapter 18 #18

Chapter 18 #18
Chapter 18
~ Shailyn ~

Dante walked fully into the room, his presence seeming to fill every available space. The temperature seemed to drop several degrees as he fixed Hannah with a look that could have melted steel.

"What are you feeding her, Hannah?" His voice was smooth, controlled, but there was venom beneath it. "Are you truly a friend? Because I don't understand. You heard clearly when the doctor said she needs to rest and not stress her brain."

Hannah stood up from her chair, and I was surprised to see her actually square her shoulders and face him head-on. For someone so much smaller than Dante, she had remarkable courage or maybe remarkable foolishness. I couldn't tell which.

"Don't try to shut me up, Dante," she said, her voice steady despite the fury I could see building in Dante's expression.

"I'm not trying to shut you up," he replied, his tone deceptively reasonable. "I'm trying to protect my wife. Something you should be doing too, if you actually care about her."

"I care about her more than you ever have," Hannah shot back, and the words hung in the air like an accusation.

I watched this exchange with growing confusion and exhaustion. What were they even fighting about? And why did it feel like they were arguing over something much bigger than just whether or not I needed rest?

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hannah said, though her body language suggested she knew exactly what she was talking about. "I'm just visiting my friend."

“I see, and try to lie to her?”

She scoffed in disbelief, "This isn't over, Dante," she promised, her voice low and intense. "Not by a long shot."

The threat was clear, and I saw Dante's jaw tighten in response. 

For a moment, I thought he might actually say something back, might escalate this weird confrontation into something even uglier. But then he seemed to remember I was there, watching them, and he forced his expression into something more neutral.

Hannah turned to me then, and her face softened immediately. All the anger and defiance melted away, replaced by genuine affection and concern.

"Take care, Shay," she said gently, coming to the side of my bed and squeezing my hand. "I love you so much. I'll keep checking on you, okay? Every day. I promise."

"Okay," I managed, squeezing her hand back even though I still didn't remember her.

She seemed so sweet. So genuinely caring. I didn't understand why there was so much tension between her and Dante. Why couldn't everyone just get along?

After she left, the room felt both emptier and somehow easier to breathe in. The oppressive weight of all that unspoken conflict lifted slightly.

But the questions remained, circling in my tired mind. Everything seemed so off around everyone. Like they were all acting in a play and I was the only one who didn't have the script. It felt like everyone was hiding something important, and I was too tired and too confused to figure out what.

I was just drained. Completely and utterly exhausted, physically and emotionally.

"Hi, baby girl."

Dante's voice was soft now, gentle, all the hardness from moments ago completely erased. He sat on the edge of my bed and leaned down to kiss my temple, his lips warm and familiar against my skin.

Something in me broke at that simple gesture of affection. All the stress and confusion and overwhelming weirdness of the day came crashing down on me at once, and before I knew what I was doing, I was reaching for him.

I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him so tightly I thought I might never let go. He was solid and real and mine the one constant in this nightmare of missing memories and strange confrontations. My husband. The man I loved.

He held me back just as tightly, one hand cradling the back of my head carefully, mindful of my injury. "It's okay," he murmured into my hair. "I've got you. Everything's going to be okay."

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted so badly to believe him.

We stayed like that for a long moment, just holding each other, and slowly I felt some of the tension drain from my body. This was right. This was how it should be. Just me and Dante, together, the way we'd always been.

Finally, reluctantly, I pulled back enough to look at his face. "I can't wait to go home," I told him honestly. "I just want to be in my own bed, in my own space. I'm so tired of this hospital."

Dante's expression softened even further. "Then let's make that happen. I'll arrange for the discharge papers right now. We can have you out of here within the hour."

Relief flooded through me. "Really?"

"Really." He stood up and pressed another kiss to my forehead. "Let me go talk to the doctors. You just rest for a few more minutes, and then we'll get you home."

True to his word, Dante moved quickly. Within what felt like no time at all, nurses were coming in with discharge instructions and paperwork. They went over warning signs to watch for, medication schedules, follow-up appointment dates. It was all a blur of information that I tried to absorb but mostly just felt overwhelmed by.

It had been one hell of a day. From waking up with no memory of the past four years, to meeting a best friend I didn't remember, to witnessing whatever that tense confrontation between Dante and Hannah had been about. I was emotionally wrung out like a dishrag.

All I wanted was to lay in my bed and relax. To close my eyes in familiar surroundings and maybe, just maybe, wake up with some of my missing memories restored.

Finally, we were ready to leave. A nurse insisted on wheeling me out in a wheelchair despite my protests that I could walk. Hospital policy, she said with an apologetic smile.

Dante walked beside me, one hand resting protectively on my shoulder as we made our way through the corridors and out to where his car was waiting.

The drive home was quiet. Dante kept glancing over at me like he was checking to make sure I was really okay, really there. I stared out the window, watching Kington City pass by, trying to recognize streets and landmarks but finding everything felt slightly foreign, so many new structures and buildings..

When we pulled up to the Belmar manor, my stomach did a strange flip. 

“Aren’t we going to our own home?” I asked Dante curiously, because even if I forgot everything, I cannot forget that I hate coming to this house because Dante’s mother and sister hates me. 

“Uhmm, because I’d be going to work and no one to look after you, I had to bring you here. Dad also wants you home, and the doctor said you need familiar faces” he manages a smile. 

He helped me out of the car, his arm steady around my waist as we walked up the front steps together. 

We walked through the massive front doors and into the foyer, and that's when I heard them.

Voices coming from the sitting room, female voices, sharp and cutting even though I couldn't make out the words yet. Dante tensed beside me, and I felt his grip on my waist tighten protectively.

Then they appeared. Cynthia and Monica, my mother-in-law and sister-in-law, walked into the foyer with expressions that immediately made my heart sink.

I knew they'd never liked me. Even with my patchy memories, I remembered that much clearly. They'd made it obvious from the very first day I'd met them the way Cynthia looked down her nose at me like I was something unpleasant she'd stepped in, the way Monica sneered whenever I spoke.

But I'd hoped, foolishly perhaps, that things might be different now. That with me being injured and vulnerable, they might show some compassion. Some basic human decency.

I just wanted peace. Was that too much to ask? Dante and I were in love. We were married. Couldn't they just come to terms with that and accept me as part of the family?

Apparently not.

Monica's eyes landed on me, and her face twisted into an expression of pure disgust. She actually took a step back, like my presence physically repelled her.

Then she raised one perfectly manicured finger and pointed it directly at my face.

"What the fuck is this bitch doing here?"

The words hit me like a slap. I actually flinched, pressing closer to Dante's side instinctively.

"Monica…" Dante started, his voice sharp with warning.

But she wasn't finished. She turned to her mother, her voice rising. "Mother, tell me you didn't know about this. Tell me he didn't actually bring her here."

Cynthia's expression was cooler, more controlled than her daughter's, but no less hostile. Her eyes swept over me with the kind of cold assessment usually reserved for particularly unimpressive insects.

"Dante," she said, her voice like ice. "You didn’t tell me you were bringing her…"

"She has amnesia," Dante cut her off, and I noticed his voice had taken on that hard, dangerous quality I'd heard him use with Hannah. "She doesn't remember anything from the past four years. The doctors said she needs a calm, familiar environment to recover."

"Familiar?" Monica laughed, the sound ugly and sharp. "She hasn't lived here in months! Why would you bring her here instead of … "

“Enough.”

The single word from Dante was like a gunshot. Monica's mouth snapped shut, though her eyes continued to blaze with fury.

I stood there feeling smaller and smaller with each passing second, my head starting to throb again from the stress. 

The way everyone was acting suggested there was something major I was missing, some huge piece of the puzzle that would explain why my presence here seemed to be such a shock to everyone.

"This is my wife," Dante continued, his voice still hard but more controlled now. "This is her home. She will be staying here while she recovers, and I expect everyone in this family to treat her with respect and compassion. Is that clear?"

Neither Cynthia nor Monica responded immediately. They just stood there, staring at us at me specifically with expressions that made it very clear they had no intention of following Dante's instructions.

They weren’t always this mean, did the last 4 years make them even meaner?

And I realized, with sinking certainty, that coming here wasn't going to be the peaceful recovery I'd been hoping for.