When my ex-husband’s name appeared on my phone, I answered before the second ring. Our son was with him that week, and the urgency in Jasper’s voice made my stomach tighten instantly. Before I could ask a question, he told me Howard had been in a scooter accident and that we needed to meet at the hospital. The words felt distant, almost unreal, as if they belonged to someone else’s life. I grabbed my keys and drove there without thinking, replaying every possibility in my head.
Howard was in an emergency room bed when I arrived, surrounded by white sheets and the steady hum of machines. A bright blue cast covered his leg from ankle to knee, making him look even smaller than usual. He tried to smile when he saw me, but his eyes were red and tired. I sat beside him, holding his hand carefully, asking if he was in pain. Jasper explained that he had witnessed the fall and that it had been a simple accident. He spoke confidently, repeating that he had been right there.
Still, something about Howard’s silence felt different. He avoided eye contact, staring instead at the blanket or the floor. When I asked gentle questions, Jasper answered quickly, insisting there were no tricks involved and that everything happened exactly as described. I wanted to focus on comforting Howard, so I didn’t push further, especially with him listening closely. The room felt heavy, filled with quiet tension beneath the medical lights.
Later that night, a nurse entered to check his vitals. She moved calmly and spoke softly, adjusting the blanket and observing Howard carefully. As she passed me, she slipped a folded note into my hand without drawing attention. The message suggested I review the hospital’s security footage during the early morning hours. Following her instructions, I went to the security office before sunrise. Watching the recording, I realized the events shown on screen did not fully align with the explanation we had been given, and I understood that difficult conversations would soon follow.
