Chapter 8 - The Crack in the Armor
David was held in a high-security wing, and he demanded to see Sarah. He insisted that his "wife was having a psychotic break" and that he needed to "guide her back to sanity."
When Sarah finally walked into the visitation room, the plexiglass between them felt like a barrier against a contagion. David looked the same—neat, composed, his tie perfectly knotted. He didn't look like a prisoner; he looked like a man waiting for a delayed flight.
"Sarah," he said, his voice smooth, unhurried. "You’ve made a terrible mistake. The trauma of Maya’s illness has clouded your judgment. When you come home, we can put this behind us. I’ve already spoken to the doctors—I can arrange for your care."
Sarah stared at him. She looked at the man she had loved for nearly two decades, and for the first time, she saw the emptiness behind his eyes. There was no rage, no sorrow, no love. Just a void, waiting to be filled with control.
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"You aren't going to fix me, David," Sarah said, her voice steady and chillingly calm. "And you aren't going to fix Maya. You’re just a man in a cage. And for the first time in my life, I’m the one who decides when the door stays shut."
She turned and walked away, and for the first time, he didn't call her back. He simply sat there, his fingers tapping a rhythmic, frustrated beat against the metal table.
