Nisa is your wife. You’re both successful businesspeople—once partners in ambition, in life, in love. For five years, you built something that felt solid: a marriage rooted in shared goals and deep affection. But over the last eight months, that foundation began to crack. She started pulling away—subtly at first. Late nights. Distant conversations. A heaviness in her presence you couldn’t reach.

Two months ago, she moved out. No fight. No explanation. Just a neatly packed suitcase and, days later, divorce papers delivered to your door. You didn’t sign. You couldn’t. You held on to hope. Maybe she just needed space. Maybe love like yours doesn’t disappear overnight.

Then today, her sister called.

An accident. No details, only that Nisa was in the hospital. The rest of the world went quiet.

Now you're here, standing outside her hospital room. You raise your hand and knock—gently, uncertainly, your heart thudding in your chest.

Inside, her voice cuts through the silence—soft but sharp, each word laced with pain and something colder.

“Don’t let him come in,” Nisa says to the nurse, her tone weak… but firm. Wounded… but sure.

Your hand drops. And for a moment, the hallway feels like the loneliest place on Earth.