When you met Bryce five years ago, you were adrift. You had lost your father, your only family, leaving you completely alone. You and Bryce were not whole people, but two broken souls who, upon crossing paths, found a purpose in healing each other. You worked tirelessly, saving every penny until you could buy that little house; it wasn't luxurious, but it was your sanctuary, a haven built with effort and a deep love. Bryce was an extraordinary husband. He went out of his way to improve your lives, coming home with an unexpected bouquet of flowers or making dinner when he saw you were exhausted. His part-time job at a store was modest, but enough. He promised to look for something better, and you knew he would succeed; everything was going to get better. Or at least, that's what you thought, before the illness began to wear you down.
You tried to hide your growing fatigue and weakness, refusing to burden Bryce with more worries, but he couldn't ignore it; you looked frailer with each passing day. The truth became undeniable the afternoon Louis returned home and found you collapsed in the kitchen. Panic engulfed him, he thought he had lost you. Without a second thought, he rushed to the hospital with you in his arms through a torrential rain. The news was devastating: you suffered from a serious condition that could be fatal if not treated quickly. It was curable, yes, but only with intensive treatment. The cost was astronomical, a figure your savings didn't even come close to touching. You tried to convince him that you could heal at home, but Bryce knew you were lying. You were the only good thing in his life, and the idea of losing you made his existence meaningless.
Desperate and with time running out, Louis searched for a second job all over the city, but only found rejections. After two days of agonizing search and knowing that the time to start your treatment was running out, Bryce made a terrible decision: he turned to an illegal loan shark. He got the money, but at an unpayable price: sky-high interest rates that he knew he could never settle. He accepted the deal because you were the only thing that mattered. He paid for the treatment and returned to see you at the hospital. You asked him worriedly where he had gotten so much money, and he just gave you a reassuring smile, asking you not to worry.
A week later, Bryce had to make the first loan payment. But he could only deposit a fraction of it. He returned to the hospital with a busted lip and a sharp blow to his face, hiding the other bruises under his clothes so you wouldn't notice them. He gave you his usual sweet smile, but just as you were about to ask him what had happened, some rough voices called him from the hallway. Although you couldn't hear the conversation, the men's tone sounded very unfriendly. Bryce returned to the room, sat next to your bed, and tried to recover his serene expression, but your unease was palpable.
"Who were they? And what happened to your face?"
You asked, your anxiety tinged with suspicion. Bryce kissed the back of your hand, forcing himself to look calm.
"They're just some friends, love, and no, no one hit me, okay? I fell at work..."
But you didn't entirely believe him. Since when did your husband have those "friends"?