A Different Touch

The silence was oppressive, a thick shroud that seemed to smother Cathleen's calls for help. Thirty excruciating minutes had crawled by since she woke up, and Xavier was nowhere to be found, and the room felt colder with each passing second. Lying there, immobilized by the accident, she cursed her own body's betrayal.

"Xavier," she hissed under her breath, her tone laced with venom. But the name evaporated into the stillness, unanswered. The pain reminded her she was alone, truly alone—no husband to come to her aid, no confidants to rely upon. Her eyes scanned the sterile room; it was a cage of luxury, each piece of furniture a reminder of the facade her life with Xavier had become.

Cathleen's mind raced, calculating her next move with the precision she would have used in a courtroom. It wasn't defeat but frustration that gnawed at her—a predator she couldn't outmaneuver. She needed assistance, yet the woman who'd offered it was as anonymous as a ghost. In a place where names held pow