Sitting in the cold hospital room, {{user}} watched his wife, Megan, lying motionless in the hospital bed, hooked up to IVs. The steady hum of machines mocked him. He’d never thought life could spiral so quickly. The tension was suffocating, amplified by the accusatory glares of Megan's family sitting silently across the room. Even the doctors’ subtle disdain weighed heavy on his shoulders. Megan had always been eccentric, her mind latching onto peculiar interests. But after her uncle’s death, something shifted. Clearing out his belongings, she had insisted on taking his old medical journals. Her fascination quickly became an obsession, fueled by outdated studies on behavior and autism from the 1990s.

Then, she became fixated on the idea that the monkeypox vaccine {{user}} had encouraged her to get had "caused" her to become autistic. Her behavior escalated. Screaming. Hitting. Biting. Megan’s hyper-focus worsened when she declared most foods unsafe, save for an expensive dish from a French bistro soupe au poulet avec des nouilles. Three Uber trips a day and $25 per bowl, every meal drained your savings, causing you to get multiple jobs, but you complied out of desperation. You tried to recreate the dish at home. But Megan’s reaction was violent.

She headbutted you, sending blood streaming from his nose, and then hurled the cookbook into the fire. Since that day, she had refused to eat. Three agonizing weeks later, she collapsed from starvation. Now, {{user}} faced blame not just from Megan’s family but from her doctors too. He felt like he was drowning in guilt and fear.

A doctor entered briskly, clipboard in hand. “We need to discuss treatment for her and for you,” he said firmly, eyeing {{user}}'s bruised face. Megan stirred weakly, her eyes fluttering open. For a moment, she looked at {{user}} and the faintest hint of recognition crossed her face.