“It could be the hit your head took, or even stress,” he says. “When your brain is ready, it will impart those memories to you, but for now all you can do is rest up and wait.”

“But can you tell me what happened?” I plead. “Maybe it will trigger something...”

He twines his fingers, letting them drop to his waist as he stares up at the ceiling. He looks like a grandfather getting ready to recount a long-ago memory to a room full of grandkids instead of a doctor talking to a woman in a hospital bed.

“On Tuesday evening, you were in the kitchen. Do you remember?”

“Yes,” I say. “With Seth.”

He consults his chart. “Yes, that’s right. Seth.”

I keep my face even as I wait for him to say more. I won’t take the bait and prompt him, though I desperately want to know.

“You attacked him. Do you remember that?”

I do. It comes back to me, a wave crashing over my head. I remember the anger, flying across the kitchen toward him. The feeling of wanting to claw at his skin until he bled. The reason for my anger comes back, too, and I grip the sheets as I remember—first Hannah, and then his denial.

“Why did you attack him? Do you remember?”

“Yes. He hit his other wife. I confronted him about it and we fought.”

He cocks his head to the side. “His other wife?”

“My husband is a polygamist. He has three.” I expect him to react, to be shocked, but instead he writes something down on the notepad in front of him and then looks up at me expectantly.

“Did you see him hit his wife?”

“One of his wives,” I say, frustrated. “And no, but I saw the bruises on her arm and face.”

“Did she tell you that he hit her?”

I hesitate. “No—”

“And you all live together, you and these other wives?”

“No. We don’t even know each other’s names. Or we’re not supposed to.”

The doctor lowers his pen, looking at me over the rim of his glasses.

“So you’re a polygamist in that your husband—”

“Seth,” I say.

“Yes, Seth, has these relationships with two other women whose names you don’t know.”

“I know their names now,” I say. “I...found them.”

“And you confronted him about these other relationships?”

“Yes!” I drop my head. My God, this is getting so twisted.

“I knew about them. I confronted him about the bruises...on Monday’s arm.” The inside of me feels hollow as alarm bounces through my chest and settles like a weight in my stomach. I try to keep my composure; breaking down now would only result in me looking crazier than I already do.

Dr. Steinbridge picks up his pen and writes something on my chart. His pen scratches against the paper in quick little successions. The sound triggers an echo of memories, memories that make my entire body clench in emotional agony. I imagine it says something like delusional. Maybe underlined two or three times. Isn’t that something? I’m the one being called delusional when it was Seth who thought he could pull off three marriages at once.

I decide to stick to my guns. Pulling myself up, I stare Dr. Stein-whatever right in his beady little eyes and say, “I can prove it. If you bring me a phone and allow me to make a call, I can prove the whole thing to you.”

Nurse Sarah reappears in the room, a food tray in her hands. She glances at the expression on the doctor’s face and then at me, her cat eyes bright with interest.

“Dr. Steinbridge,” she says, her voice light and friendly. “Thursday has a visitor.”

   NINETEEN

Seth strolls in, looking every bit like he’s going for a casual Sunday brunch instead of visiting his wife in the psych ward. He’s wearing a button-down with a cardigan and distressed gray jeans. I don’t recognize the outfit; it must be something he keeps at one of their houses.

I see that he’s had a haircut recently and strain to remember if he had it a day ago when he surprised me at our condo. Wouldn’t that be something? His wife in the psych ward and he goes to get a haircut. Who am I kidding? He has two others—when one of the spares falls off the wagon, life keeps moving.

He smiles, looking refreshed and well-slept, and walks over to kiss me on the forehead. I almost turn away but think better of it; if I want to get out of here, I’m going to have to play nice. Seth is my shot at freedom.

The spot where his lips touch my skin stings. It’s his fault that I’m here, his fault that no one believes me. Isn’t he supposed to be on my side, trying to keep me out of places like this? And then I remember his lie, his denial, as I stared him down in the kitchen. He’d tried to make me believe that I’d made Hannah up. I look up at his face in alarm, wondering if I should wait to confront him when we’re alone, or if I should just do it now. I glance at Dr. Steinbridge, who is watching us. Everyone’s always watching in this place, hawk eyes waiting for you to mess up and betray your mental state.

“Maybe you can clear something up for us,” the doctor suggests, looking to Seth. Yes! I think, settling deeper into the bed. Finally. Put him on the spot and make him answer. My husband nods, his brow furrowed like he’s dying to help.

“Thursday has mentioned that you have—” Dr. Steinbridge glances at me like he’s embarrassed to say it “—additional wives...” His sentence drops off, and Sarah freezes where she’s writing something on my white board. She glances over her shoulder at me, and then, embarrassed to be caught, turns back to her work.

“I’m afraid that’s not true,” Seth says.

“No?” Dr. Steinbridge glances at me. His tone is light. It’s like they’re discussing the weather.

“I divorced my first wife three years ago,” Seth says, looking embarrassed.

“But they’re still together,” I say.

“We’re divorced,” Seth says firmly. The doctor nods. “I left her for Thursday—”

I shake my head in disbelief. I can’t believe it. “That’s bullshit, Seth. You can’t spin this story any way you like. Tell the truth—you’re a polygamist!”

“I am only married to one woman, Thursday,” Seth says. His face is earnest, so convincing. I falter, because his performance is so excellent I am temporarily tongue-tied.

“Okay, then,” I say. “But how many women do you have a sexual relationship with?”