Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I lay awake in bed the entire night.

The image of Jared walking briskly into the hallway kept replaying in my mind.

How could a man suffering from ALS for four years walk so steadily and swiftly?

A dark, suffocating suspicion wrapped around my throat.

At dawn, while Jared was still fast asleep, I grabbed our marriage certificate and took a cab straight to the rehabilitation clinic he had visited for four years.

This was my very first time here.

Over the past four years, every time I offered to accompany him, he came up with reasons to stop me.

“Physical therapy is humiliating, and I do not want you to see me looking pathetic,” he would say. “You work so hard every day. Use your free time to rest instead of running around for me.”

I had believed every word.

I had been so touched by his supposed consideration that I spent hours brewing rich, nourishing broths for him while I survived on plain bread and tap water.

The clinic was small, and the receptionist immediately recognized his name.

“Oh, Dr. Coleman!” she smiled warmly. “Such an inspiring man. He made a full recovery and was discharged a year ago.”

My grip tightened on the marriage certificate, and my knees nearly buckled.

Seeing my pale, trembling state, she quickly called over Jared’s primary physician, Dr. Miller.

My mind was a chaotic mess as I asked with bloodshot eyes, “Dr. Miller, I am Jared Coleman’s wife. I need to know about his condition…”

Dr. Miller fell silent, guiding me into his office with a deeply conflicted expression.

The dread in my gut grew heavier.

“Dr. Miller, please just tell me the truth,” I choked out. “I can take it.”

He turned around, pulled out a thick medical file, and set it on the desk.

“Mrs. Coleman, keeping this from you has weighed heavily on my conscience.”

“Dr. Coleman never had ALS. His initial diagnosis four years ago was a complete medical error. It was just a temporary motor neuron strain.”

“The hospital paid him a settlement of eighty thousand dollars and granted him free therapy at our center. He was fully cured two years ago.”

The words struck me like a bolt of lightning, making the room spin violently.

Fully cured?

Then why did he demand massive medical funds from me every single month for four years?

Why did he continue sitting in a wheelchair?

Why did he still come here every week?

Dr. Miller noticed my shock and lowered his voice with visible disgust.

“He told me he needed an excuse to rest so he could breeze through his Ph.D. without taking on teaching duties. He only came by every week to hang out and chat.”

“The hospital agreed to keep the misdiagnosis quiet to protect its reputation during the settlement negotiations.”

Dr. Miller pushed the file toward me.

“I know how hard you worked to care for him all these years. Take these records.”

I stared at the medical charts, my heart boiling with murderous rage.

Two years ago, Jared claimed his recovery had hit a critical phase that required an experimental imported treatment costing fifteen thousand dollars a round.

Without a second thought, I had sold the small cottage my late grandmother left me just to scrape together enough cash for three rounds.

When I handed him the money, he had held me tight, weeping with fake gratitude.

“Shannon, once I get better, I swear I will make you the happiest woman in the world.”

Now I realized he had used a fake fatal illness to bleed me dry, spending every dime on Maisie Lewis.

“One more thing,” Dr. Miller added gently. “Starting about two years ago, he rarely came alone. A young woman named Miss Lewis always accompanied him. After he recovered, she even brought us gift baskets. They acted like newlyweds.”

His voice faded into a deafening ring in my ears.

My entire world had completely crumbled to dust.