Started as His Wife (ON HIATUS)

I Should've Known

Beatrice waves to me as I enter the lobby of the twelfth floor, standing up from her chair. She's in a plain, oversized hoodie with the hood pulled up to conceal her identity. Luckily, no one else is in the lobby, but she pulls me into the chair besides her in the corner of the room, which is slightly blocked off by a large plant. 

"Wendy, I'm sorry. I didn't get to explain all of this over the phone, but this is all my fault," she begins to blurt out, her voice quivering. "Grayson's hurt because of me, and I don't even know if he's going to be okay. It's all my fault," she begins to cry, but I place a hand on her shoulder to steady her. She shakes furiously from under it, but her body is limp and weak. 

"It's okay, Bea. I'm sure whatever happened wasn't your fault. Right now we just need to make sure Greg is going to get better," I remind her, rubbing her shoulder slightly. 

"He hasn't woken up for days," she huffs, trying to catch her breath. 

"What was the injury exactly?" I ask, taking my hands off her shoulders to fist them onto my lap. I take a deep breath beforehand to maintain my calm. 

"They said it was blunt force trauma to his head. He had some swelling, so they had to perform surgery to release the pressure. They said it was successful, but he's just not waking up, and they can't tell when he will," she says, her voice breaking again as she finishes her sentence. 

"Where is his room?" I ask. 

Beatrice shakes her head with eyes to the floor. 

"I don't know. Since he's unconscious, they won't let me in unless I'm family. His manager should be here soon with his parents though."

"That's good to hear," I tell her, but more so I try to reassure myself. 

We sit in silence with our head down. I pick at the cuticles of my fingers until they start to bleed a bit, so I clasp my hands together to stop myself. With every breath, I feel my chest sink deeper and deeper, almost to the point of nausea. 

Please be alright. Promise me you'll be alright. 

Suddenly, Beatrice rises from her seat and taps on my shoulder. 

"He's Grayson's manager," she points out to me, "and his parents I think."

I look up to see a finely dressed, but short man walking straight towards me with an older woman and man right behind him, walking closely behind, so close they almost walk ahead by the time they reach me. 

"Hello-" I begin to greet them, but I'm immediately cut off by the woman. 

"Are you Wendy?" she asks me curtly, crossing her arms across her chest, her large handbag knocking slightly into me as she did so. 

"Yes. I-"

"Sign your rights over," she cuts me off again, her eyes shooting darts into me. 

I'm frozen, my mouth unable to utter another word. I glance over to the other two men, but they look off in another direction to avoid my eyes. 

I turn back to her and trying to regain my composure, tell her slowly, "I'm sorry ma'am, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh really? Huh," she scoffs. "Of course you'd want to hoard all his money. You're probably so excited he's in this state right now. Is that why you flew over here so fast? To collect your money?" 

"Mrs. Grayson, please calm down," Greg's manager tries to reason, stepping in between us. 

"I'm not Mrs. Grayson! It's Ms. Smith now." she correct him but shoots a glare at the other man.