“Thursday claims you have two other wives that you refer to as Monday and Tuesday,” the doctor says.

His face colors underneath the doctor’s gaze. I watch it eagerly. There’s no way he’ll be able to talk himself out of this. “It’s a game we play.”

“A game?” Dr. Steinbridge repeats. My mouth drops open. I’m shaking.

“Yes.” He looks at me for support, but I turn my face away. I don’t understand why he’s lying like this. He isn’t legally married to the other two, so it’s not like he can get arrested for bigamy. Everything between us has been consensual. Making it seem like I’ve made all this up is ensuring that they won’t let me out of this place—not without a lot of counseling and medication, anyway.

“This thing Thursday and I would do to joke about all of my time spent away. I’d always come home on Thursday and since her name is Thursday, we said there was a Monday and a Tuesday, as well.” He glances at me nervously. “I didn’t know she took it this far, but considering...”

“What? Considering what?” I snap. Anger surges through me. I can’t believe he went there. I’m suddenly hot all over, even though I know they keep the rooms cool. I have the urge to shove off the sheets and lean out the window so the cold air can touch me.

“Thursday, you have a history of delusion,” the doctor interrupts. “Sometimes, when a trauma...” His voice continues, but I block it out. I don’t want to hear it. I know what happened, but that isn’t what’s happening now.

Seth’s eyes are pleading with me; he wants me to go along with whatever he’s doing. My headache has suddenly gotten worse, and I need to be alone, think all of this through.

“Get out,” I say to both of them, and when it’s not enough and nobody moves, I scream it. “Everyone get out!”

A new nurse comes charging around the corner and looks at Dr. Steinbridge for instruction.

I look pointedly at him, ignoring Seth. “I don’t need to be sedated. I’m not a danger to myself or anyone else. I need to be alone.”

The doctor considers me for a moment, making up his mind about my mental state. Then he nods. “All right, then. I’ll be back later to check on you and we can talk further.” He looks at Seth, who appears ready to pass out. “You can come back for afternoon visitation and see if she’s ready to talk then,” he says. “I’d like to talk to you in my office.”

I can see the tension building in his shoulders; he’s lost control of the situation. Seth doesn’t like to lose control; he’s not used to anyone else getting their way. Why haven’t I realized this before? Why am I just seeing it now?

Seth glances at me once more before nodding.

“All right. I’ll be back later.” He announces this to the room, not to me. He doesn’t look at me before he strides out the door.

When they’re all gone, I take a deep, shuddering breath before turning on my side and staring out the small slat of window. The sky outside is a murky gray, its tears a fine mist of rain. I can just see the tips of some trees from my angle and I focus on those. I think of the window in our—my—condo. The one that overlooks the park, how hard I’d fought for that unit when Seth wanted the one with the view of the Sound. I’d needed that view into the lives of strangers; it was an escape from my own life.

I doze off and wake up to Sarah carrying in my lunch—or is it dinner? I don’t even know what time it is. As soon as I smell the food, my body remembers it’s hungry. It doesn’t even matter that the meat loaf is gray, or that the mashed potatoes are instant. I shovel food into my mouth at an alarming rate. When I’m finished, I settle back against the pillows with a stomachache. My eyes are closed and I’m dozing off again when I hear Seth’s voice. I consider not opening my eyes, pretending to be asleep, in hopes that he leaves.

“I know you’re awake, Thursday,” he says. “We need to talk.”

“Then talk,” I say, without opening my eyes. I hear the rustling of a paper bag and the smell of food reaches my nose. When I open my eyes, Seth has laid out containers between us—five of them. Despite the heaviness of the hospital food sitting in my stomach, my mouth begins to water.

“Your favorite takeout,” he says, one side of his mouth lifting in a smile. It’s his most charming smile, the one he used on me that day in the coffee shop. He glances up at me, his head still ducked, and for a moment he looks like a little boy—vulnerable and eager to please.

“I’ve already had delicious hospital meat loaf,” I say, eyeing the container of mushroom risotto.

Seth shrugs and his smile turns sheepish. I almost feel sorry for him, but then I remember where I am and why I’m here.

“Seth...” I stare at him hard and he stares back. Neither of us quite knows what to do with the other, but we’re preparing for some sort of emotional warfare—I can see it in his eyes.

“Why won’t you tell the truth?” I say finally. That’s really the bottom line, isn’t it? If he told the truth, I could get out of here.

But if he told the truth, things could...things could never go back to normal. That’s when I understand it, the steely look in his eyes. It all comes to me. Not only do I know who Hannah is, I know that he’s been physical with her—hit her—and things between us can never be the same. Initially, my hopes were that he’d want to be with me, only me. But that will never happen, and I don’t even want it to happen anymore. I don’t know who my husband really is. I don’t know anything at all. What he says next is not what I expect.

“The truth is that you’re very sick, Thursday. You need help. I tried to pretend it wasn’t happening, I played your games...” He stands up and the containers of food wobble precariously on the bed.

I’m so angry I could toss them at him. He walks to the window, stares out before he turns back to me. His face has changed from one instant to the next; there’s a grim determination written across it now, like he has something awful to say to me.

“You changed,” he says slowly, cautiously. “After the baby...”

“Don’t,” I say quickly. “Don’t bring the baby into this.”

“You won’t talk about it, and we have to. You can’t just move past something like that,” he says. There’s more conviction on Seth’s face than I’ve ever seen. His fists are balled at his sides and my mind flashes to last night in the kitchen. He looks just as angry, but also sad.

He’s right. I’ve always refused to talk about what happened. It was too painful. I haven’t wanted to relive those feelings, drag over them again and again in some shrink’s office. My hurt is a living thing—sick and swollen, still festering under the surface of my calm. It’s personal; I don’t want to show anyone else. I nurture it on my own, keep it alive. Because as long as my hurt is still there, the memory of my son is, as well. They have to coexist.