A Vow For Vengeance

The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the small visitation room, wrapping around me like a suffocating shroud. It clung to my skin, mingling with the faint metallic tang of old scars on my wrists.

I sat motionless, my hands trembling slightly on the cold metal table, staring at the white tiled floor. I was thinking of how quiet the air had gotten when he said something that barely reached my ears.

“Sorry,” I said slowly, lifting my eyes to meet Timothy’s. “Could you repeat that?”

He sat there with that same smug expression, the one that always made my stomach churn. His eyes darkened with cruel amusement as he tapped a thick stack of papers against the table. Beside him, a sharp-suited man watched me with a calculating gaze that gave no chance for sympathy.

“I said,” He repeated, enunciating each word like he enjoyed it, “I want a divorce.”

I stared at him. Not in shock–no. That had been burned out of me long ago. I knew this day was coming. It was long-awaited. “After everything?” I murmured. “You are finally done pretending?”

He shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. “Because it’s time. You are unstable, delusional. The doctors agree.”

I flinched at the mention of the doctors. The ones who took part in locking me away for months, talking behind closed doors that I was crazy. That I was a danger to myself. A danger to anyone around me.

Lies. All lies.

“You lied.” My voice cracked with conviction. “You told them I was insane. That I tried to kill myself.”

The horrific event of the night came crashing back into my mind. All I remembered was the weird messages I got from Timothy.

Are you alright?

Please don’t do anything drastic. I’ll be home soon.

Give me a call if you can’t hold it in anymore. I’ll come straight home to you.

And how the room spun. The lights were too bright. My head was splitting. And my hands… I couldn’t feel them.

I remembered going to bed. I think and then… the floor. Or maybe the bathtub. I don’t even know. The next thing I saw was red. Not pain, just red. Warm. Blurred. My wrists were opened like flowers blooming in reverse.

Then hands. Voices. Paramedics shouting. A needle in my neck.

I woke up strapped to a bed in a white room. They told me I tried to kill myself. But I didn’t. I know I didn’t. I didn’t pick up a blade. I didn’t write a note. I didn’t make a choice. Something happened. Something was done to me.

I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t suicidal. God, I wasn’t.

And he was there. Of course, he was.

A small smile played on Timothy’s lips. “Paranoia. They saw through it. You are here because you are unstable. Or maybe because you scared me.” He then crossed one leg over the other like this were a casual brunch meeting.

“You made it seem so.” I clenched my fists weakly, “You put me in here. For eight months.” I said, my voice tightening.

He sighed and leaned back. “Technically, the system put you in here. I simply reported your erratic behavior. A concerned husband doing the right thing. You should be grateful I chose one of the top-tier facilities. I don’t think you should waste any time in signing these–” he pointed at the stack of papers.

I cracked out a bitter laugh and bit my chapped lips. “Fuck you! I am not signing anything.” I screeched, cutting him off. “This approach works against you, and you know it. A person in a mental institution can’t sign divorce papers without a guardian.”

Timothy cocked an eyebrow then his gaze shifted to the sharp suited man, like he was giving him a go ahead, like I was too inconsequential to exert his energy on for a reply.

The sharp-suited man decided to take the floor by giving no prior introductions. “Mrs Campbell, given your current status, the court has appointed me as your guardian to facilitate this process. Before we proceed, I want to make sure you understand the terms of this divorce agreement. It’s quite detailed, and there are several cases regarding asset division.”

I sat stiffly as the guardian handed me the divorce papers. My eyes snapped at Timothy, who was now watching me with a cold, detached expression.

Sly bastard!

I flipped through the thick papers, my eyes scanning the dense legal language. Hesitant and confused, I voiced out. “Wait… what is this? Conservatorship? What do you mean by conservatorship? It says here that I agreed to have a conservator manage my financial affairs while I’m incapacitated?”

Timothy smirked slightly like he had gotten some sort of satisfaction from my reaction. He leaned in so he could look at me squarely. “You did sign it, Elaine. When you were admitted here, the court appointed Dr. Harris as your conservator. That means he has legal authority over your assets and financial decisions until you are deemed capable again,” he finished off with a snort as if he were making a joke of the situation. A joke of me.

My eyes widened as the realization dawned on me. “But I didn’t– I–I.” I settled with a controlled sigh. “I refuse to believe I signed anything regarding a conservatorship.”

“It’s all above board. After your episode, the court declared you unfit to manage your affairs. Naturally, I stepped in and did what was necessary.” Timothy stated as a matter of fact.

The muscles in my jaw tensed. “You forged my consent?”

“No, Mrs Campbell.” The guardian answered. “The forms were signed while you were under evaluation and deemed competent enough to give provisional consent. There’s footage on file. You signed them voluntarily.”

My mind reeled. I didn’t remember any of that. Nothing. It was all a fog of medication, voices, and locked doors.

I started, my voice rising. “You mean when I couldn’t remember my own name? When I couldn’t hold a pen straight?”

“It’s standard procedure,” Timothy stated coolly. “You were under medical care and unable to manage your affairs. The conservator acts in your best interest, or so the law says.”

My hands trembled as I turned to the guardian. “So… what does that mean for my inheritance? My assets? My bank accounts?”

The man cleared his throat, glancing at Timothy before answering. “Like I mentioned, according to the conservatorship, Dr. Harris has the authority to manage and, if necessary, transfer the assets.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, interrupting. “Who is this, Dr. Harris?”

“Come on, don’t tell me your confinement has made you forget the doctor who used to work with your father?” Timothy stated with a little pout, like he was hurt by the lack of recollection.

The truth was, I did remember Dr. Harris. I only wanted to be sure if my conservator was the same Dr. Harris I knew. The one who worked for my family even before I was born. He remained loyal to my dad till the very end, but chose not to extend his loyalty as he refused to work with me even when I pleaded. But what was his role in all this? Why was he suddenly involved in my affairs?

“How did you get Dr. Harris to be my conservator? Last I checked, he wanted nothing to do with me.” I blurted out the most appropriate question I could think of.

Timothy slightly touched his chin. “He wanted nothing to do with you, not me. I have a good relationship with the old man.”

I drew my brows together. “What games are you playing, Timothy?” I asked with caution.

“Mr Blackwood has arranged for the majority of the properties and accounts to be transferred to his name.” The guardian continued, paying no mind to the question I asked. “You are left with a small apartment at Capitol Hill and a monthly stipend, as stipulated in the agreement.”

“How dare you?” My voice cut in my throat. “My father left those to me–”

Timothy cut in. “Which you graciously signed over. Along with the estate in Broadmoor, the properties in London and Monaco, the account in Zurich, the board seat at Campbell Heritage Group, and many others. I can’t list them all.” He let out an exasperated sigh. “Look Ell, you don’t have to worry about a thing. You’ll be taken care of.”

I froze. My mouth went dry. Taken care of. Like a dog.

My heart pounded against my chest, and my fingers curled into my gown. I was looking for the right words to say. Damn it. Any word. Nothing came forth. But my silence didn’t impede Timothy, he went on.

“Don’t you get it? You are in no position to manage those assets. And frankly, Ell, I’m protecting what’s left of the family fortune.”

I had been wrong. Awfully wrong, when I thought there was nothing he could do to shock me. All this time I thought I still had the upper hand. Something to go back to after I’d left this hellhole. But he’s taken it all. My estates, my money, assets, my name- gone.

“You sly bastard!” I slammed my fist on the table. “You’ve ruined me. You’ve stolen everything,” I lurched across the table and grabbed his shirt, my fingers digging into the fine fabric. With a disgusted sneer, he peeled my hands off him.

He straightened his shirt and pressed his lips together. “No. I rescued it. From a woman who nearly bled to death in a bathtub and can’t remember doing it. From someone who would have flushed a legacy down the drain because she didn’t know how to control her emotions.”

I clenched my teeth. “You drugged me. I didn’t try to end my life,”

“Of course you didn’t,” his tone was as sarcastic as it could get. “But can you prove that? Can you?”

A sharp silence stretched between us.

He had gotten me. He had gotten me really hard. I had no way of proving my sanity.

The guardian cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Mrs.-?

“Don’t call me that?” I yelled. “Timothy, I knew you were a bastard the very day I found out that you were siphoning money and that you used my signature to access trust accounts that were never yours.” My voice hitched without control. “And you didn’t stop there, you gaslit me into thinking I was losing my mind.” I laughed bitterly and stood, my body trembling. “I swear to God, Timothy, I'll make you pay for everything you’ve done to me. I’ll use everything I have to make sure you get what you deserve.”

“You should start by signing the divorce papers,” he said mirthfully. “I deserve that now,”

I stilled, my mind still reeling with fury.

“You have nothing. No assets. No credibility. No allies. Even your friends don’t care about you. If we could even call them friends. They’ve all turned their backs on you. You’ll fade into obscurity. That’s how it ends.”

I looked him dead in the eyes. He wasn’t relenting.

My gaze shifted to the stack of papers before me, Timothy’s eyes never left mine, wicked and expectant, as if daring me.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “I need a pen.”

The guardian slid the pen across the table toward me. My fingers shook as I reached out. With a deliberate calm, I signed my name.

Timothy folded his hands together and rested them on the table with a triumphant smile tugging at his lips. “I almost forgot. I have some good news for you. The doctors revised your diagnosis. You’ll be released soon. Much sooner than you think.”

I gritted my teeth at his smug announcement.

He went on. “I could have signed these papers myself, but I thought, let her have her way with this. I feel better knowing that this was your decision, your choice. You don’t need to thank me. It’s the least I could do.”

“This isn’t over, Timothy,” I mumbled, finding the need to have the last word.

His smirk didn’t falter, not a little bit. “As far as I am concerned, it pretty much is,” he drawled his words, rising to his feet. He adjusted his coat and turned his back on the ruins he had orchestrated. He didn't offer a glance.

The guardian followed in silence, not a nod in my direction. Just a closing of file and a soft click of the door behind them.

And just like that, I was left in the white room.

My lips parted, but there were no words.

No tears.

Just silence