“You just need to rest, darling,” my husband Stas’s voice dripped with false concern. “Just a couple of weeks at the best sanatorium. You’ll restore your nerves.”
I looked at him, trying to focus my gaze. My head felt heavy, stuffed with wet sand.
“I don’t want to go to a sanatorium,” I whispered.
Tamara Igorevna, my mother-in-law, sitting in the front seat, let out a short chuckle.
“Want it or not, you must, dear. You’ve run yourself down completely. Snapping at people, not sleeping at night.”
She didn’t look at me; her eyes stayed on the road. The last few weeks had turned into hell.
Together, they convinced me I was losing my mind. My belongings would disappear and then reappear in absurd places.
They swore I said things I couldn’t remember.
The car turned off the highway, but instead of the promised pines and spa hotel, a gray, monumental building with barred windows rose ahead. “Psycho-Emotional Correction Center ‘Harmony.’”
My heart skipped a beat.
“This isn’t a sanatorium.”
“It’s better,” cut in Tamara Igorevna, as Stas parked the car. “Here you’ll really get help.”
Stas pulled me out of the car. He avoided my eyes; his hand gripping my elbow was damp and weak. Two orderlies in white coats were already waiting at the entrance.
“We’re leaving her in your care,” my mother-in-law said with a broad smile, handing over some papers. “Full course. Paid in advance.”
Cold triumph gleamed in her eyes. In that moment, the fog lifted completely. This wasn’t about my “health.”
They led me through echoing corridors reeking of medicine and chlorine. My bag and phone were confiscated. I didn’t resist. What was the point? Everything had been decided for me.
“The chief doctor will see you now,” the nurse said indifferently, stopping at a massive door.
I entered the office. By the window, with his back to me, stood a tall man in a perfectly pressed coat.
“Hello,” I said, my voice surprisingly firm.
The man slowly turned.
And the world tilted. Standing before me was Arseniy. My Arsen, whom I hadn’t seen in almost ten years. The very one whose career I once saved by taking the blame for his medical mistake.
He looked at me, and his face showed it all: shock, guilt, recognition. Of course he remembered me.
My dear husband and mother-in-law had dumped me in a mental ward to steal my money—but they didn’t know the chief doctor was my former lover, who owed me everything.
A smile curled onto my lips. The game was only beginning.
“Arseniy?” I asked softly. “What an unexpected meeting. You’re the chief here now?”
He swallowed, unable to take his eyes off me.
“Alina… What are you doing here?”
“I came for treatment,” I stepped forward, feeling strength return. “My husband says I’ve lost my mind. What do you think? Do I look insane?”
Arseniy circled the desk and picked up the folder with my name, clearly brought in by Stas and his mother. His fingers twitched over the cover as he tried to compose himself.
“The documents state you’ve been experiencing aggression, memory lapses, depressive episodes…”
“Documents can say anything,” I cut him off. “Especially when someone’s desperate to get access to his wife’s money. My father died six months ago and left everything to me. They can’t stand it.”
I stood close, locking eyes with him. I saw his duty battling with memory.
“You owe me, Ars. Or did you forget how I took the blame for your fatal misdiagnosis, how I left the residency so you could keep your career? So you could become… this. Chief doctor.”
He flinched, as if I’d slapped him.
“I haven’t forgotten, Alina.”
“Then prove it.”
He froze, staring past me, then pressed the intercom button.
“Valentina, come in.”
A stout nurse entered, her eyes cold and judgmental.
“Patient Alina Vorontsova goes to Room Seven. VIP wing. Vitamins, mild herbal sedatives only. No strong medication without my direct orders. I’ll be monitoring her personally.”
The nurse arched her brows but didn’t argue.
“Yes, Arseniy Igorevich.”
As she led me away, I caught Arseniy’s look. It said: Play by my rules. I’m on your side.
The ward was more like a decent hotel room: comfortable bed, private bathroom, even a window overlooking a quiet garden without bars.
That evening Valentina brought dinner and a paper cup of pills.
“Take these. The doctor prescribed them. For a good sleep.”
I eyed the pills.
“I sleep fine. Thank you.”
“Arseniy Igorevich insisted,” she pressed, her smile tight.
I realized she was their ally. Stas and Tamara had surely bribed her for “special care.”
“Fine,” I said, taking the cup. “Thanks for your concern, Valentina.”
She watched me lift the pills to my lips, nodded, and left.
I instantly spat them into my palm—two white, one yellow. Not herbal sedatives, that’s for sure.
I hid them in my robe pocket. My first piece of proof.
I had to act. Arseniy had bought me time, but he wasn’t invincible. I couldn’t just wait. I needed an ally—or at least access to information. A phone.
Valentina was the weak link. She liked money. And luckily, I had plenty.
The next morning, when she came on her rounds, I was ready.
“Valentina, sit down. I have a business proposal.”
She blinked, curiosity overtaking suspicion.
“What kind of proposal?”
“I know my husband and mother-in-law paid you to give me the wrong drugs. Don’t deny it. I won’t expose you. On the contrary—I’ll pay you more.”
Her face tightened, eyes darting.
“I don’t know what you—”
“You know exactly,” I smirked. “What did they give you? A hundred thousand? Two? I’ll give you a million. Right now. In writing. For one small favor.”
The word “million” worked like magic. She swallowed hard.
“What favor?”
“I need a phone. For one hour. And you’ll testify, if needed, that I’ve been perfectly lucid since I arrived.”
She hesitated only briefly. Within half an hour, I had her smartphone.
First, I called my lawyer, Igor. I gave him the short version—he was shocked but instantly knew what to do.
Next, I called Stas.
“Darling,” I purred into the phone, turning on the recorder. “I feel so awful here. You were right. I’ll sign whatever papers you want. Just get me out of here.”
Stas fell for it immediately.
“That’s my girl, Alina! Mom and I will visit tomorrow. We’ll bring the documents so I can manage everything while you recover.”
The next day, they arrived. Beaming, expecting victory. Arseniy escorted them into his office—where I was waiting.
Not in a hospital robe, but in my own clothes, returned at Arseniy’s request.
“Alina?” Stas froze. “But where—”
“Where’s your deranged wife ready to hand over everything?” I finished for him. “She never existed.”
Tamara’s face darkened.
“What’s the meaning of this? Arseniy Igorevich, why is the patient not in her room?”
“Because she’s not a patient,” Arseniy replied calmly, stepping beside me. “But you two will soon have serious problems. Fraud. Unlawful imprisonment…”
At that moment, Igor, my lawyer, entered.
“Good afternoon,” he said, placing a recorder on the desk. “I think we have plenty to discuss. Like this recording.”
And Valentina’s testimony. And the independent analysis of the pills they tried to force on me.
Stas’s face drained to the color of a lab coat. Tamara opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water. Their flawless plan crumbled in seconds.
I looked at them without hatred—only cold contempt. My revenge wasn’t sending them to prison. It was taking away everything they craved. And I had done exactly that.
As they left, defeated, I turned to Arseniy.
“Thank you,” I said simply.
“Just repaying a debt,” he smiled. “What will you do now?”
I looked out the window, at the vast, free world.
“Live,” I answered. “Simply live.”