Angry Husband Hunts for His Wife in Hospital – Story of the Day

Dr. Sarah Silverman loves her job. She loves stitching people back together. When Vanessa is wheeled into her Emergency Room, she is filled with concern over the unconscious woman who has an array of bruises. But what happens when the person responsible for the bruises comes into the hospital?

Dr. Sarah Silverman stood pressed against the corridor. She had her half-empty cup of coffee in one hand, and her stethoscope hung from the other. The hospital had been overwhelmingly busy, and she was ready to hang up her scrubs for the night.

But she still had a few more hours to go. She took another gulp of the coffee, eager for the caffeine to take flight through her veins.

She had just stitched up a family of four who were involved in a car accident. She was touched by the little girl, who held her arm the entire time she cleaned her up. And Sarah had tried her hardest to keep the girl's older brother from running amok with the instruments she used the little girl. A gurney and several orderlies ran past her.

Dr. Silverman sighed. It would be a long few hours until her shift was over. She hoped that when it was time, she could escape to see the sunrise from the helipad. It was something that Sarah always loved to do whenever she started to feel that the hospital walls were closing in on her.

She needed that quiet moment on the rooftop to watch the mist rise, and the sun slowly peek out from the clouds, welcoming the new day. And every time she took a deep breath, she would be reminded of why she was a Doctor in the first place.

Sarah looked at her watch. She was still on her thirty-minute break. She considered taking a nap in the on-call room, but she knew that she would be more tired and restless after than refreshed.

"Dr. Silverman," Nurse Samantha called out to her. Samantha was carrying a few boxes of medical supplies, and Sarah was not surprised. After the night they already had, people were more accident-prone than usual.

If she told her Mom about it, she was sure that her Mom would chalk it down to the moon being in a particular phase or one of the planets most likely being off-sync. Sarah smiled to herself just thinking about it.

"Yes, Sam? All good?" she replied.

"Yes, Doc! I just wanted to tell you that the cafeteria sent a platter of fresh sandwiches. They're in the breakroom. Do you want me to grab you something?" Samantha asked.

"Oh! Perfect, thank you. I'll get a sandwich now – I need something other than coffee to get through this shift," she said.

Sarah threw her coffee cup away as she walked to the breakroom. It was empty, but the radio was on, and music from the 80s softly came through from the speaker next to the microwave. She took her pick of sandwiches and sat cross-legged on the couch, eager to finally eat something that wasn't an energy bar or some fruit.

"I hope you're not getting food on the couch," Dr. Mitchell said as he walked into the room. He picked at the food gingerly, bending to sniff the platter before he pulled the plastic wrap over it.

"I'm not, but thank you for the reminder," Sarah said.

Sarah generally got along well with most of the staff, but she was constantly butting heads with Dr. Mitchell. He was difficult to like and difficult to talk to. Sarah got the impression that he just didn't like the fact that she was doing so well in her residency. He always took every opportunity to try and break her down, but she always tried to rise above it. She didn't want to burn her bridges with him.

He was senior to her, after all.

"Not eating anything?" she asked him.

"No, I can't stand old sandwiches. I'll get one of the nurses to fetch me something else from the cafeteria. Or maybe I'll go there myself, hide away for a while. It's been crazy tonight. I just don't want to be paged again tonight," he said as he walked out.

Typical, Sarah thought to herself.

She brushed the crumbs off her clothes and onto the paper plate that she used, determined not to leave a crumb behind in case Dr. Mitchell went back to check. He constantly did strange things like that, always ready to micromanage her every move.

Sarah went to the bathroom. She washed her face, brushed her hair with her fingers, and re-tied it. She drank a bottle of water from the breakroom fridge.

Then, she was ready to tackle the last hours of her shift.

Vanessa stood at the counter in the kitchen. She picked at the last bits of lasagna from the casserole. She was ready to call it a night, but Ron was sitting in front of the television. He was watching a game, and the beers had flowed since before dinner that evening.

She had to be around, waiting for Ron to call for something or the other, ready to run with whatever snack or another bottle of beer if that was what he wanted.

"Come on! How do you miss that?" Ron bellowed at the TV.

Vanessa flinched. She hated this. She was on edge and would remain on edge until Ron had finally slept off the alcohol in his system. She couldn't remember when things changed, but now, being married to Ron gave her very few emotions. The most significant and most consuming feeling was fear.

She absentmindedly stroked her arm, which was still a little tender from the incident the week before. She was still trying to convince herself that Ron did not mean to hurt her; he was just rushing out of the house, and she was on the way, so in his haste, she was shoved against the coat stand in the hallway.

"I'm sorry, Nes, honey," he told her later in the evening when he got home to find her with a bag of frozen sweetcorn on her arm.

"It's okay," she mumbled just for the sake of it. None of it was okay. Neither was the bruise that was threatening to form beneath her skin.

"I just needed to get out of the house. I was so late, and you were on the way. You know that I didn't mean any of it," he explained as he took over, holding the bag of sweetcorn to her arm.

She had to remind herself that these things happened, and despite it all, Ron still treasured her as his wife. If not, why would he continuously buy her fresh flowers every week? And randomly bought her a pair of shoes that he thought she'd like.

Or that time he bought her a new pair of diamond earrings as an apology for slamming their bedroom door and not realizing that her hand was caught in the action?

This was okay. She told herself that she was okay. At least she hadn't been sent to the hospital yet. Vanessa had read, in one of those magazines that someone had left behind at work, that if your husband had sent you to the emergency room, then it was time to go.

Since she had read that, she often wondered if it had applied to her, especially because she had been to the local Doctor for bruises before but never to the hospital. She remembered seeing some of the mostly censored photographs attached to the article.

Most of the women were beaten bloody – Vanessa convinced herself that she was better off than them. Ron always left his marks in places that couldn't easily be seen.

"Vanessa," he called from the living room.

"Yes?" she replied, walking to him with measured steps.

"Don't you want to sit down and watch the game with me?" he asked, gesturing to the arm of the armchair he was reclining in.

"Yes, of course," she said as she scrambled onto the armchair.

When she settled down, Ron smiled at her. He put his arm awkwardly around her and wedged his head beneath her chin.

There, she thought to herself. This isn't so bad.

Vanessa did not remember how she fell asleep during the game. All she remembered was that she had one arm stroking Ron's hair while he sipped on a beer. The smell always made her wrinkle her nose and try to keep her fear at bay. It was as though her fear was always triggered by even the slightest hint of alcohol on him.

Ron shook her awake when the game was over. Or at least, she assumed it was over because the TV had been switched off, and he was leaning across her to pick up the discarded beer bottles.

"Come on, wake up, Nes," he said, pulling his arm away, almost making her fall off the armchair.

"Sorry, I think I'm just wiped out from the week we had," she yawned.

"Yeah, me too. Let's get something to eat before we go to bed," he said. "You know how drinking makes me hungry."

Vanessa got off the armchair, stretching from the awkward position she had been in for so long, and took a few of the beer bottles from Ron. He yawned as he bent to pick up the last of the beer bottles and the packets of chips that he had eaten.

She went into the kitchen, throwing the bottles away under the sink.

"Why didn't you wash all the dishes?" Ron demanded, looking at the sink and at the almost empty casserole of lasagna on the counter.

"I was doing it, but then you called, and I came to sit with you," she replied. She could feel the fear again. It began low in her belly and rose through her spine. She knew the tone of his voice. She knew that the alcohol had finally pushed all of Ron's buttons. She knew something was coming.

The thought of her running through the house and to their bedroom, locking the door as she went, flashed through her mind. She knew that her brain was trying to protect her, to get her to safety before Ron could do anything. But her feet were rooted into the kitchen floor with some paralytic force that she could not even begin to explain.

"And that's supposed to be an excuse?" he began to throw the beer bottles one by one into the bin, and each bottle met with a greater force than the previous one. Vanessa knew he was trying to see how hard he could throw the bottle before it cracked into the next one.

She looked down at the feet and shook her head.

"Look at me," he demanded. His voice was low and dangerous. "It's not difficult, Vanessa."

Ron took the pot that she cooked the mince in and threw it into the sink. The sound of the metal pot hitting the sink made all her hair stand up. Ron continued to throw things into the sink – next went the plates they had used for dinner, followed by the forks and the wooden cutting board.

"And you can't do this, right?" he asked her.

"No, I can do it," she said. "I just wanted to see what you needed before coming back to finish it off."

"But you never came back," he said. "Instead, you made my arm numb when you fell asleep."

Ron laughed a cold and mirthless laugh. It rang loud through the kitchen, straight through Vanessa's ears, and deep down into the pit of her stomach.

She sighed.

"What are you sighing for?" he demanded from her. "What are you so fed up with?"

Vanessa shook her head again.

"Can't speak?" he asked.

Then, without warning, Ron threw the casserole through the kitchen. It hit Vanessa straight in her abdomen. First, she was blinded by the force and the pain that ran through her body. Then, the sight of the shattered glass and leftover lasagna made the kitchen look like a crime scene.

It IS a crime scene, she thought to herself.

When the initial shock wore off, Vanessa's stomach felt like hot coals were placed along it. Her back was bent in pain, and her legs wobbled as she remained rooted to the spot.

"Clean up this mess," Ron ordered as he opened the fridge and took out the leftover chicken from the previous night. "Don't bother going to bed until the kitchen is spotless." He went back into the living room and put the TV on again.

Vanessa squatted, trying to pick up the bigger pieces of the casserole before she could get the broom or even the mop. But her legs gave way, and she fell forward, feeling the glass dig into her knees.

The tears came then. They felt as hot and as heavy as the coals felt in her stomach.

"I don't know how much longer I can do this," she thought as her tears blinded her vision.

Vanessa cleaned up the kitchen the best she could. She could no longer see any splinters of glass nor any splashes of the dinner. Her fingers were raw from picking up the glass pieces without using her thick dishwashing gloves. But by this time, her body was so consumed by the pain that she believed that if she were to be run over by a car right then, she wouldn't have felt anything.

As she was wiping away the last soap suds in the sink, Ron walked in, throwing the container of chicken bones across the counter.

"Hmm," he said, inspecting the kitchen. "Are you satisfied?"

Vanessa nodded.

"Good. I am, too. Let's go to bed. But you need to shower first. You smell like food."

Vanessa stood in the shower for a while, letting the hot water take away some of her pain. She desperately needed some pain medication, but Ron had thrown them down the toilet the day before when she said that she had a headache and needed a pill to help her sleep.

She looked at her fingers, covered in little cuts from the shattered glass. She looked at her knees. The cuts were bigger and deeper from the force with which her legs had given way. She saw that the casserole had already summoned a large, angry bruise across her ribs on the left side. She wondered if she had any broken ribs. It felt highly likely from the pain she experienced.

There was enough pain that her breathing was made shallow by it.

"Enough is enough," she whispered to herself.

Vanessa got out of the shower a little while later. She could not have the long shower that she wanted, allowing the hot water to consume her pain and suffering at the hands of her husband. But she also could not have a long shower for fear that Ron would walk in and shut off the water at any moment.

As if she had conjured him, Ron banged on the bathroom door.

"Hurry up," he said.

Vanessa got into bed slowly. Her movements were limited due to the pain running through her body. Ron was still awake, scrolling through his phone. She needed him to fall asleep soon. Because she had a plan — when his snoring began, she would creep out of bed and drive herself to the nearest hospital.

She couldn't take the pain any longer.

Vanessa kept her eyes on the alarm clock next to her bed. She refused to close her eyes because if she did if she fell asleep, she could completely lose her window to leave.

Ron eventually fell asleep, and his snoring quickly took over the room. Vanessa slowly removed the covers, careful not to let any cold air beneath the covers – she wanted nothing to hinder her plane. Once she left the room, she locked the door from the outside. Even if Ron woke up, she would still have a little head start.

When Vanessa pulled into the hospital parking lot, she could barely open her eyes. Her pain was so uncontrollable and consuming that she feared that she would pass out from the simple action of walking through the emergency room.

As she approached the door, Vanessa muttered "help" from the orderly standing next to the door and passed out.

She came too when she was being wheeled into the emergency room, the same orderly at her side, pushing the gurney along.

"Hi, ma'am, I'm Doctor Sarah Silverman," Vanessa heard a woman say before she passed out again.

Sarah had just returned to the ER when two orderlies wheeled a woman in. One of the orderlies had the woman's handbag hanging from his hand as he pushed her through.

"What happened?" she asked as she put her stethoscope into place.

"No idea, Doc," the orderly said. "She was walking to the door when I was outside taking a smoke, and she passed out. Here's her bag."

"What can I do?" Nurse Samantha asked, already gloved and ready to go.

"Find her name, run it through the system, and see who we have here."

Samantha nodded and did as she was told.

Sarah was laser-focused. She didn't allow herself to stop and think. She needed this woman to regain consciousness so that she could tell her what had happened and how Sarah could help her. She did the necessary, calling for another nurse to help her with the patient's vitals.

"Vanessa Howard," Samantha called, taking the woman's wallet out of her bag and handing it over to another nurse who would run the patient's name through the hospital's database, hopefully revealing the patient's history.

Sarah nodded in acknowledgment to Samantha.

"Get some oxygen to the patient, Samantha."

It was only when Sarah moved Vanessa's hand to look at the cuts on her fingers that she saw her t-shirt rise up, revealing a large bruise across her abdomen.

Sarah's heart sank. She hated when women came in like this — always too late. After the damage was done and their bodies had been tormented by the hands of their partners.

Sarah did whatever she needed to do for her patient. As much as her gut wanted a security guard to stay with Mrs. Howard, she knew she could not make any drastic moves until the patient regained consciousness and told her exactly what had transpired.

Instead, judging from the bruises on the woman's abdomen, Dr. Silverman administered some morphine. She knew that bruises of that nature came with excruciating pain.

Once she was confident that Vanessa was not in any danger, she asked Samantha to keep an eye on her, making sure that when she woke up, Sarah would be paged immediately.

Vanessa woke up feeling groggy, but her body felt like her own again – the pain was there, but it was more of a dull ache, lulled by the medication that she was sure the Doctor had given her.

She sighed. She had finally gotten out. She didn't know what she would do next, but at least she was here.

"Hi, I'm Samantha, Dr. Silverman said to page her the moment you woke up. Is that okay?" Samantha asked her.

Vanessa nodded her agreement.

Vanessa was transferred out of the emergency room and to a different ward on another hospital floor. She had told Dr Silverman everything that had led to her going to the hospital. She saw the Doctor's face pale at the harrowing moments of the story.

Vanessa had previously refused to believe that she was a victim. She didn't know the reason – whether it was the title itself or something more. But seeing Dr. Silverman's reaction changed something in her. Maybe it was how she looked at her, not out of pity, as Vanessa assumed the look would be, but rather out of genuine concern – something Vanessa had forgotten.

"Thank you for listening," she told Dr. Silverman once they had filled out her paperwork and she had gone over previous injuries with the Doctor.

"Of course, that's what we're here for. And we can talk about your plan of action later. You rest now and try not to move too much. Your body has taken a lot, and it deserves a rest now. My shift is over now, but I'll be back to check on you first thing. If you need anything, just call Nurse Samantha or Nurse Adaline. They will keep me in the loop."

The Doctor squeezed her hand gently, pulled the curtain securely around her bed, and left.

For the first time in a long time, Vanessa felt safe.

Sarah felt refreshed. She had gone home, showered, slept, and cooked herself a good meal before returning to the hospital. It was precisely what she had needed. But the truth was that the entire time she was home, she kept thinking about Vanessa Howard.

The fact that her husband thought nothing of hurling a glass casserole through the room toward her chilled Sarah to her bones.

When she got to work, she was eager to check in on Vanessa and see how she was doing. She had some nasty physical bruises, but Sarah couldn't imagine the mental and emotional bruises that Mr Howard had done.

Sarah changed into her scrubs and coat and went onto the floor that Vanessa was admitted on. When she walked around the corner, she saw that Nurse Samantha was confronted by an irate man.

"Hello?" the man said condescendingly. "I'm her husband, and that means I am entitled to be with her whenever I please," he barked at Samantha.

Samantha looked like a deer caught in headlights. Sarah had to save her.

"Sir, is there a problem?" Sarah asked him, looking at Samantha.

"Here is Dr. Silverman. She will explain everything to you," Samantha told him.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Sarah Silverman," she said.

"Ron Howard," the man barked.

A cold shiver ran down Sarah's spine. Of course, he would show up. She knew he would at some point.

"You are holding my wife somewhere in here, and you are not letting me see her. Honestly, who does that?" he continued.

Sarah looked at him, trying to understand what type of mood he was in. She needed to be careful of how she dealt with him. People like Ron Howard were always tricky to deal with, and Sarah knew she could handle herself, but she had no idea how he would react to her. That was the concerning part.

"You're her husband?" she asked, thinking about Vanessa from the night before and what condition she had been in.

Ron held his left hand up, which was covered in band-aids. Sarah knew it was masking the aftermath of one of Vanessa's 'incidents,' as she had said. Ron held his ring finger up, clear for Sarah to see the gold band glimmering in the light.

"See?" he said, tapping at it with his right hand.

"Do you know what happened to your wife?" Sarah asked him.

She was still trying to figure him out, to see if he would give anything away with his body language. Or whether he would try to find out how much Sarah knew about the situation. Either way, Sarah was growing uncomfortable, and all she wanted to do was call security in.

"My wife is perfectly fine, all right, Dr. Silverman?" he sneered. "There is nothing wrong with her. Whatever she might have told you in there, that's a lie, right? So, I am taking her home with me. All right?"

Ron Howard ran his fingers through his hair.

"Back to you!" he barked at Samantha, who was visibly shocked. "Give me all the paperwork right now. And she will sign a waiver…Right now!"

Samantha looked at Sarah, uncertain of what to do next.

"Sir, I'm sorry. But your wife needs to rest, and she needs treatment at the moment," Sarah said.

"Then," Ron interrupted. "She'll have her treatment and rest at home. Under my supervision."

The telephone rang at the reception desk, but Sarah could see that Samantha dared not answer it. She looked at Sarah with her eyebrows furrowed and bit her lip.

"You know," Ron continued. "She just got overheated. It happens sometimes."

He pushed past Sarah, hitting her shoulder with his arm as he walked.

Sarah stood still for a moment. She had to think on her feet, and she had to do it quickly.

"Sir," she began. "I'm afraid that your wife's problem is much more serious than you're making it out to be."

Ron turned around slowly and looked at her.

"We have suspicion," she continued. "That your wife has a gastric ulcer. So, unfortunately, whether you like it or not, I have to insist that she stay here."

Ron made a face and began to saunter toward Sarah and Samantha.

"Oh," he said. "You insist, do you?" He walked up to Sarah until he was almost nose-to-nose with her.

"Now, Ms. Silverman," he said in a low, menacing voice, flicking her name tag as he read her name. "How long have you been working here?" he asked.

"Five years," she replied.

"Well, if you want to work here for five more years or maybe longer, I suggest that you do exactly as I insist," he said. "Now, show me to my wife. Or else, I will go straight to the head doctor, and I will make sure that you don't work here a day longer. Do you understand? Or should I write you a prescription?"

He looked at Sarah for a moment as if trying to square her up.

"You do understand, don't you?" he sneered. He gave Samantha a stern look.

"Very good," he said as he stalked down the hallway.

"Are you sure about her diagnosis?" Samantha asked Sarah. "She definitely came in with a different problem."

"Yeah, I know, Sam," Sarah said quietly. "Her problem is much more serious, but I cannot talk about that right now."

"Go to her now, Doc," Samantha said.

Sarah went straight to Vanessa's ward. She wanted to go to her before Ron ended up in the ward, ready to drag his wife home.

Vanessa lay in the hospital bed, deep in thought, when Sarah walked in.

"Mrs. Howard," Sarah said. "I just talked to your husband."

"What?" Vanessa asked. Sarah could see that she was immediately alarmed. "He's here already? Oh, my gosh!"

Vanessa began to panic. Sarah could see it clearly.

"Mrs. Howard," she said. "Vanessa!"

Vanessa stopped moving around and looked at her.

"Now, I know why you're here," Sarah said.

"I have to go to the airport or bus station now. I have to get away. Please, can you hold him off?" Vanessa pleaded with her. "Maybe just tell him I'm in surgery or something, I don't know."

"Running away will not solve anything," Sarah said.

"But he won't stop," Vanessa replied.

"He won't. But he will find you and bring you home."

"But he bribes everybody, Dr. Silverman. Everybody. No one even wants to listen to me!" Vanessa sighed.

Sarah took a form out of the file that she was holding.

"He has crossed the line now, and this time, we can beat him, Vanessa," she said, handing her the form.

"What is that?" Vanessa asked, looking at the form.

"It's your diagnosis. History of multiple injuries. All you have to do is sign this form. These papers will go to the police. And I'm telling you, by the time you get home, he will be behind bars!" Sarah smiled at her.

"Are you sure?" Vanessa asked her. Sarah could hear the hope in the voice.

"Absolutely," Sarah said.

Just then, the door opened, and Ron Howard walked through it with Doctor Mitchell right behind him.

"Babe!" Ron exclaimed when he saw his wife.

"Finally," he said. "I was so worried."

Sarah pulled the form away quickly from Vanessa, hoping that Ron did not see the action.

"Can you believe they wouldn't let me into the ward?" Ron told Vanessa. "They wouldn't let me see you." Ron held onto her arm.

"Get your hands off her," Sarah said to him. "Mr. Howard, step away from my patient now. I know what you were doing to your wife. The police have been informed, and they will be here in no time!"

"I'm afraid that Mrs. Howard here is no longer your patient," Dr. Mitchell added from the foot of Vanessa's bed. "And your methods are forcing me to question your professionalism here."

"Dr. Mitchell, this man beats his wife. I have all the proof I can show you," she said.

"I see everything very clearly," he said, pulling the forms from Sarah's hands and tearing them. "Mrs. Howard, here, simply had heat stroke. She forgot to take a glass of water with her when she went outside."

Sarah watched as Ron held onto Vanessa's arm tightly.

"You silly girl," he said. "Now, why would you leave in a rush, huh? Don't worry about it. I will take you home, and I will take good care of you."

"No, no, no! Get your hands off her! I told you to step away from my patient!" Sarah demanded.

"Now, Dr. Silverman, I've had about enough of this," Dr. Mitchell said. "Okay?" he continued. "Your actions are highly unprofessional. Mr. Howard has told me all about it, how you treat visitors, and how you treat your patients. And I'm simply not going to stand for it, so you are fired."

Sarah was in shock. And to solidify that shock even further, he pulled her name tag off.

"What?" Sarah exploded.

"Grab your stuff and go home," he said.

"Sir, you are making a mistake," Sarah exclaimed. "This woman is in danger!"

Meanwhile, Ron was stroking Vanessa's arm with a sneer on his face.

"I don't make mistakes, Dr. Silverman," Dr. Mitchell said. "Don't make me call the police on you."

Sarah stared at the Doctor. He held her gaze for a moment before lifting his hand to wave.

"Goodbye," he said.

Sarah was horrified at the treatment. She didn't particularly like Dr. Mitchell, but she had respect for him based on the fact that he was her senior. This was ridiculous.

She looked at Vanessa, whose eyes pleaded with Sarah. But what else could she do? Sarah had no choice but to walk away.

Vanessa watched as Dr. Silverman ran out of the ward. All hopes that she may have had grew smaller as the Doctor left.

"Mrs. Howard, you'll be happy to know you can go home in the morning," the other Doctor told her. "You'll feel much better, and you can go with your husband."

Ron took her hand again and rubbed it along his face. He almost looked remorseful, like he had truly missed her and was genuinely sorry for his actions. But she knew that this was just another public act.

Her fear began to build again.

On the other side of the hospital, Sarah had changed out of her scrubs and into the clothes she had worn into the hospital earlier that day. She had packed the few belongings into a box and was ready to walk out. She was still in shock over everything that had happened. She didn't expect to lose her job while fighting for justice.

She took the box of belongings and walked to the stairwell for the staff only. She was so wrapped in her thoughts that she didn't pay attention to the stairs and missed a stair on her way down. The box flew out of Sarah's hands as she fell.

Sarah noticed Samantha was in the stairwell too, and she saw the fall, running to help her.

But the truth was, Sarah knew that Samantha was there. She had purposely 'fallen' because she needed an excuse to stay in the hospital longer. She had already lost her job, so she figured that she would try and help Vanessa. What else did she have to lose?

"Let me see," Samantha said, running her hands over Sarah's ankle.

Sarah feigned pain.

"Ouch, ouch, yeah, it hurts so much!" Sarah exclaimed.

"You need to put something cold on it," Samantha said. "I'm sure the swelling will start soon."

She helped lift Sarah to her feet.

"Come on, I'll help," she said.

They hobbled to the closest on-call room, where Samantha strapped Sarah's ankle.

"I'm so sorry about what happened," she said. "But as you can see, it seems like the hospital doesn't want to let you go."

"Thanks," Sarah said. "But I am worried about my leg, though. I really do feel like it's going to get swollen."

"Then, just stay here for the night," Samantha said. "There is no way you can walk right now. We'll go to a free room, and we will do the X-rays in the morning, okay?"

"Thank you, Samantha," Sarah smiled.

"Oh, it's nothing, Doc," she said.

"Just one more thing, Sam. Don't tell Dr. Mitchell about this, okay?"

"Okay," Samantha said.

Sarah smiled. She had her way in. Now, she just had to execute her plan.

Sarah did spend the night at the hospital, and she tried to sleep it off. She did need to catch up on sleep in any case – but her mind was racing with how to protect Vanessa from her husband.

She had set an alarm, ready to hop out of bed and get to Vanessa when the hospital floor was at its quietest. When Sarah got to the floor she needed to be, she switched Vanessa's file with the form that she had spoken to her about earlier.

Vanessa had been on edge since the doctors had left the room. She knew that Ron would have his way with her. He would make her pay for leaving the house and going to the hospital.

She couldn't fall asleep. Her mind was restless, and her body was on edge. She knew Ron wouldn't be far away. He was in the hospital, waiting for the staff to move on with their duties. She knew that as soon as the coast was clear, he would be back in her room.

And like clockwork, when the lights were dimmed in the corridor, Ron made his way to her.

"Hello again, baby," he said, entering her room. "You tried to run away, but you have to understand that you cannot run away from a strong man like me. And you have to remember that all these bruises and all this pain should remind you who your true master is. I am your master."

He moved closer to the bed.

"My fists are itching," he said in a low voice. "It's time to teach you the lesson that you deserve."

Except, when Ron went to the bed, Vanessa was not there. It was Sarah, hidden beneath the covers.

"Well," Sarah said in a menacing voice. "Do you want to teach me a lesson?"

"You?" Ron exclaimed. "Where is my wife? What are you doing here? What is this?"

"This is where it all ends," Sarah told him. "This is where you go to jail."

"Oh, really? You've got nothing on me. You hear me? Nothing!" he screamed.

That's when Sarah removed her phone from under the covers and pressed play. Ron's voice blasted through the room, a recording of everything he had said.

"What is this?" he asked nervously. "You set me up?" he asked, growing angry again.

"Oh, you are going to pay for this big time," he said.

"It's over, Ron," Sarah said. "You are going to pay for all the pain that you caused your wife. Your poor little wife."

At that moment, a policeman entered the room, taking Ron's hands from behind.

"Sir, you're under arrest," he said.

"Wait, no, officer," Ron said. "Wait a minute, listen to me! She's insane! She's crazy! Listen to me! She set me up! Wait a minute!"

And then Ron saw Vanessa in the doorway.

"Babe! Babe, please! Tell them I'm innocent," he said. "Please, tell them that she framed me! Come on. We've been through so many things. I mean, I'm your loving husband, after all, right? Come on."

"Yes, Ron," Vanessa said. "We have been through a lot. Bruises. Broken bones. All of that will heal. But I will never forget what you did to me."

"No," he said.

"And I'd love to discuss that with you," she continued. "In court."

"In court?" he exploded. "I'm going to get you! I will destroy you. You're not going to get away with this. You hear me? You're not going to get away with this!" he screamed as the policeman dragged him down the hallway.

"It's over, Vanessa. It's going to be okay now," Sarah said.

"Thank you, Doctor," Vanessa told her. "If it weren't for you, I don't know what I would have done."

Sarah took her hand.

"Really, there's no need to thank me," she said. "You can't ignore domestic violence. Millions of women around the world suffer but fear to fight. Silence is not an option. And running away is not a victory. Only by standing up to your abuser can you truly be free."

At that moment, Dr. Mitchell was dragged out by another policeman.

"I told you, I did not take any money from that guy, okay?" he said.

"Oh, it's you, huh?" he said when he saw Sarah. "Well, you know what? You're going down. You're going to pay for this."

"Ha," Sarah said. "Yes. It is me, Dr. Mitchell. I'm the one who will rid the world of horrible men who abuse their power and authority. You were willing to give this poor woman to an abuser just for a few hundred bucks. You know what? Your place is right next to him. Behind bars."

"Yeah, we'll see," he said as he was dragged away.

Sarah put her arm around Vanessa.

"Come on, let's get you back to bed," she said.

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If you enjoyed this story, here's another one: A woman sought help from her mother while recovering from a C-section. However, instead of support, she got a list of demands from her mother. To make matters worse, when she visited the woman's house to assist for two days, she got plastered on the couch. Read the full story here.

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