Jason's Burden

G'Day All, This is another story playing with tropes. I really wanted to do a Feb Sux but the masterpiece 'The Ides of March' by WordsIntheWyld was just too hard of an act to follow, I just don't have the talent to try for a bar that high. That said, I have tried to craft George Anderson's dilemma, how do you forgive a remorseless wife, without making her a complete narcissistic nutbag. I hope I've found, if not unique, at least a different way of doing that. So, this is my wife with the celebrity trope. Please enjoy Jason's Burden. No sex, Aussie English and I'm still trying to work out what tags to use without triggering everyone. I've also mucked about with my style a little so reading this shouldn't be hard work.

Jason's Burden

The function room at the Sheraton shimmered under chandeliers like starlight. Crisp black suits and flowing gowns glided across marble floors. Camera flashes strobed, giving the guests an almost animated jerky motion as they moved past the press and paparazzi. Jason Merchant stood near the stage, doing another grip and grin photo with ... someone, while holding his Award, a golden quill leaning on golden cricket stumps. "Sports Journalist of the Year." Earlier that afternoon he'd sat in a conference room and along with Malcom, his attorney and friend, he had signed a five-year contract as an On-Air presenter and Head of Network Sports for the largest Television Network in the country. This award and the contract would give him national; shit, it would give him international exposure.

He'd earned it ... years of 4 a. m. starts, endless interviews, tight deadlines, freezing cold sidelines. Tonight, his work was showcased. Applauded. Worth it.

But as he smiled and accepted congratulations, something gnawed at the back of his mind: where was Elle?

Elle had spent most of the night with a name Jason knew too well ... Marcus Ridley, the rising AFL star, latest "Face of the League". Jason had even profiled him a month ago, painting the picture of a driven, magnetic twenty-three-year-old whose talent was matched only by his arrogance and appetite for attention. And apparently, Elle's attention.

Jason had spotted them together earlier ... laughing, flirting, too close on the dance floor. Elle in a crimson dress, radiant, the same one she'd worn to their anniversary dinner. And Marcus? All charm and confidence. Jason had pushed the jealousy down. This was her night too. She deserved to enjoy herself.

But when he finally returned to their table, Elle was gone.

*****

Jason stood, frozen, eyes locked on the empty seat beside his.

"Hey, Jay," said a voice. It was Tom Williams, his colleague, another reporter. Beside him, his wife, Ava, sipping from a champagne flute. Tom looked uneasy, she didn't.

"She said to tell you she's heading out," Tom added. "Told us to remind you about picking up the girls from your parents tomorrow."

Jason's brow furrowed. "What do you mean? She left?"

Ava chimed in, voice light but measured. "She looked a little tired. Said the night had been lovely, but she needed air. She didn't say anything dramatic, just... that she'd see you tomorrow."

Jason looked between them. "Was she alone?"

Tom hesitated. "She left around the same time as that Ridley dickhead. Didn't say anything to me directly, but..."

"He was all over her," Jason muttered. "You both saw it. They were practically glued together all night."

Ava frowned. "Jason, come on. They were just dancing. Talking. She didn't look uncomfortable."

"That's the point! She wasn't uncomfortable," Jason snapped.

Tom leaned in. "Mate, breathe. Look, I thought it was weird too. The guy's half your age. But maybe it's nothing. Maybe she did just need air. She's probably gone home, call her"

Jason sat down slowly, his hands trembling beneath the tablecloth. Getting his phone out, almost dropping it. Straight to voicemail. 'Elle WTF' he texted.

Ava softened her tone. "Jay, she didn't say anything cruel. Just said you'd understand."

Jason gave a hollow laugh. "Understand what? That she ditched me again?"

Tom's face tightened. "Again?"

Jason stared into the distance. "This isn't the first time."

*****

It had started at their high school formal.

Jason had rented a Dinner Suit, gotten a friend to lend him a car, spent hours rehearsing what he'd say during their slow dance. Elle had looked stunning ... blue satin dress, hair curled, smile electric.

But halfway through the night, she'd disappeared, without a word, just gone.

He found out the next morning she had left with one of the school's rugby stars. Rumours swirled with venomous speed: an after party, making out, a hotel room, drinks, a lot more than just dancing. The worst part wasn't even the betrayal ... it was the public spectacle. Everyone at school knew. Whispers followed him through the corridors. Teachers gave him knowing glances. His friends didn't know what to say.

He was humiliated. Disgusted. For weeks he didn't speak to her, he wouldn't even look her in the eye.

Then she came to him ... crying, begging. She sat on his doorstep in the rain one night.

"I was drunk. I was stupid. It didn't mean anything, Jason. I didn't even know what I was doing. You and I were getting so serious, I felt trapped, and I panicked. I wanted to feel... free, for a second. I thought you'd come to the party."

He said nothing.

She grabbed his hand. "Let me make it up to you. Anything. I'll do it with you. I'll give you the same as him ... I just don't want to lose you."

It took six months.

Six months of awkward conversations, six months of trust slowly rebuilding. Six months of her checking in constantly, swearing she'd never stray again. In the end, he forgave her. He thought they'd moved on. He thought they'd grown up.

Then came university.

They were two years in. A party at Jason's flat. Friends, music, drinks, weed. One moment she was there on the couch next to him. The next, gone.

She turned up the next day. Hungover. Distant.

"I hooked up with someone," she admitted. "A med student. I don't even remember his name. I just... I really wanted to fuck him."

Jason's breath caught.

"I thought maybe you'd just hook up with one of my friends. You know, even things out."

The words felt like a slap.

She came back again with an offer. Her best friend from psych ... tall, flirty, always a bit too close to Jason. "We can have a threesome," Elle said, eyes pleading. "You always said you found her hot. You can have both of us. Would that make it better?"

He was sick with confusion. Anger, lust, betrayal ... twisted up into a knot.

They didn't speak for eighteen months.

Until the graduation party.

She was there, standing under fairy lights, holding a glass of white wine and laughing with someone Jason didn't recognize. Her eyes found his. Something shifted. He felt the spark again, the same spark he'd felt years before when they'd first met. He saw her gasp, just slightly, he knew she felt it too.

They talked that night. Then again, the next day. Then dinner.

By New Year, they were together again.

And now, years later, two kids later ... she was gone. Again.

*****

Jason stood up suddenly, pushing his chair back with a screech. "I'm going to get the girls."

Tom rose too, grabbing his arm. "Jay, hold up. Are you sure you're alright to drive? You're shaken. Maybe ..."

Jason shook him off. "I'm fine."

Ava stepped in front of him. "Jason, please. You should talk to her first. Maybe she just needed ..."

"Needed to fuck that dickhead Ridley", he cut her off, "Needed to feel free, Yeh, heard it all before."

Tom's voice cracked. "What the fuck Ava, you're defending this? Seriously?"

Ava turned to him. "I'm not defending anything. I'm saying jumping to conclusions doesn't help. Maybe she was feeling overwhelmed. Just needed to get away, I mean Jay was getting mobbed, he had all the spotlight, she's not use to it"

Tom's eyes narrowed. "Oh Bullshit! she left with another man. Again. Third time. What part of that isn't a pattern to you?"

"She's a wife and a mother. She's not a celebrity; she's not like you guys that are around this all the time. The whole Red Carpet and paparazzi tonight were full on, you'd have to agree. Maybe she needed a break from all this pressure. You don't know what's going through her head."

Tom snapped, louder than intended, "So that makes it okay? To walk out on your husband during his night? To leave with some pumped-up footy brat half her age after hanging all over him for the last two hours?"

Ava's jaw clenched. "Don't talk to me like I'm stupid, Tom. Maybe she needed just one night for herself, yes, she made a mistake doing it like this but ... That doesn't mean she doesn't love Jay or her children."

Jason put a hand up. "Stop. Both of you. Just stop. This isn't about taking sides. It's ... Fuck ... I need to go."

Tom looked like he wanted to say more but backed off.

Ava gave a quiet sigh. "Let us know when you get to your parents'. Please."

Jason turned and walked out.

*****

The hills were dark, silent. The family home stood still under moonlight. Jason's mother met him at the door in her robe.

"Jay? What's wrong? Where's Elle?"

Jason didn't answer until they were in the kitchen. His father was already pouring tea, quiet and watchful.

"She left the Awards dinner," Jason said finally. "Took off with some AFL player. Didn't even say goodbye. Just told Tom and Ava to remind me about the girls."

His mother looked shocked. "She left with someone. Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Dumped me as soon as dinner and my award were done. Couldn't climb on him fast enough. I really should have known it was just a matter of time. I mean, High school. Uni., I keep forgiving her, and she keeps doing this."

His father's voice was low and firm. "What exactly happened?"

Jason relayed the details ... the dancing, the laughter, the goodbye message through friends. His mother clutched her mug.

"That doesn't mean ..."

Jason cut her off. "Don't say it doesn't mean anything. Don't."

His father leaned forward. "Alright. So, what are you going to do?"

Jason stared into his tea. "I'm packing her things. Moving them to the granny flat. We have to be separated for 12 months for Divorce to be applied for, separate buildings at the same address are recognised. She can sleep out there when she gets back. If she gets back."

His mother looked pained. "You need to talk to her first. You can't throw her out before ..."

"I'm not throwing her out. I'm giving her space."

His father nodded slowly. "Leave the girls with us here for the weekend. Take some time, Clear your head. Keep me updated, let me know when she gets home. But don't go to war, son. Not yet. "

Jason's shoulders sagged. "I don't even know if there's a war left to fight."

*****

Jason walked into the house slowly, almost cautiously, like he expected something to explode.

The scent of her perfume still lingered in the hallway ... roses and vanilla. He stepped out of his shoes, wandered through the quiet living room, the dim kitchen, the darkened bedroom.

Her things were everywhere. Her red heels in the hallway. Her hair straightener still plugged in. Her earrings on the bathroom sink.

But no note. No text. No call.

He paced.

He called her phone again. Straight to voicemail.

Again.

He texted: Where are you? Please, Elle.

Find My Phone showed her location as the Sheraton 4 hours ago. She had turned her phone off. That meant she knew what she was doing.

He walked into the master bedroom, stared at their wedding photo. Her smile, the one she saved just for him. The one she had given the dickhead when they danced. He punched the dresser. Not hard enough to break it ... but hard enough to hurt.

He pulled her suitcases out of the cupboard, threw them on the bed. Methodically, mechanically, he began packing. Dresses. Underwear. Makeup. Shoes. Her toothbrush. Her vitamins. He folded every piece of her life and moved it to the granny flat out back.

And all the while, his mind roared.

How could she do this again? On his night. The one night that was supposed to belong to him. She new what tonight meant, she knew what the Award meant ... She knew how important this was. 'She watched me fight for this career. She saw the hours. She saw what it cost. And she still left.'

'With him.'

'What the hell is wrong with her?'

But then ... memories of the girls. Emma's lopsided ponytails. Anna's wide, curious eyes. Sunday mornings in bed with all four of them curled under a blanket.

He collapsed onto the couch.

His heart ached. His stomach churned. A grotesque cocktail of love and revulsion.

He loved her. He wanted to hate her, but he couldn't erase the years.

And the shame ... God, the shame. What would people say? The same woman who cheated in high school, who disappeared at uni., who made him a fool ... again.

Still, he couldn't let the family shatter. Not for the girls.

He tried calling her again.

Nothing.

He woke up on the couch, his phone still in his hand, out of power.

Saturday, nothing, she didn't call, didn't text ... didn't come home.

Saturday night, his phone rang, he almost dropped it trying to answer, Elle! he screamed into the microphone. "Jay, it's Dad, have you herd anything at all?" "nothing" he replied, voice cracking. "I'm calling the police, something's wrong, really wrong" his dad said as he hung up.

Sunday, he woke on the couch, again, but this time his phone was on charge.

Still nothing.

Sunday afternoon he called her parents.

Her father picked up. "Jason? Everything okay?"

Jason swallowed. His voice was rough. "Is Elle with you?"

A pause. "No. Isn't she with you?"

"She left the Awards Dinner. With someone. I haven't heard from her. Her phone's off, it's been off since Friday night."

Her mother's voice came on the line, panicked. "What do you mean she left with someone? Who?"

Jason closed his eyes. "Marcus Ridley. The AFL player. They were dancing all night. Then she left. Said she'd see me tomorrow."

A stunned silence.

"That doesn't sound like her," her mother said, almost too quickly.

"It sounds exactly like her," Jason snapped. "She's done this before. You know she's done this before; I've forgiven her before. I've ..." He stopped. He couldn't breathe.

"Jay," her father said, calmer. "Maybe she's just blowing off steam. You two have been under pressure."

Jason laughed bitterly. "Under pressure? I was just awarded for a lifetime of work, and she walked out. With another man. She left me, told my colleague to tell me to remember to pick up the kids, then she left, with him, fucking Marcus fucking Ridley."

He was crying, ugly crying, "I don't know where she went. I can't find her ..."

"You don't know what happened," her mother insisted. "Please, Jason. Don't give up on her. Not like this."

He was about to reply when there was a knock at the door.

Firm. Repetitive.

He froze. Walked slowly to the front door and opened it.

Two Police officers stood under the porch light.

"Mr. Jason Merchant?"

He nodded.

"We've located your wife. She's at City Hospital. In ICU."

His world tilted.

"What happened ... Is she ... ICU?"

"It's all still being investigated, we're not sure just yet what happened. All I know now is she was admitted early this morning suffering what looks to be an overdose." The female Police officer said.

Jason staggered backward. "No, no, no..."

The phone slipped from his hand.

Elle's mother was still on the line, shouting.

Jason couldn't hear. Couldn't feel. Just the thunderous roar of betrayal, fear, and heartbreak slamming into him all at once.

The female officer stepped closer. "Are you all right Mr Merchant? Is there someone you can call to take you to the hospital? You are in no condition to drive. Let's sit down for a moment."

Jason saw her pick up his phone, she was talking to someone, "Yes, Mam, he's Ok just in shock, yes, we will, Good Night. She put his phone into his pocket. "Jason", she said, "Where are your house keys?" He pointed toward the kitchen. "OK, come on we'll take you."

*****

Eighteen Months Later.

The blood pressure cuff auto inflating was the only sound in the quiet, sterile room. Sunlight filtered through the blinds in pale stripes.

Elle's eyelids fluttered.

A sharp breath rattled through her throat.

Her limbs were heavy, stiff. Her throat felt like sandpaper. Her lips parted and cracked as she tried to speak. "Jason...?"

Her voice was hoarse. Weak. Barely a whisper.

Panic crept in. Her chest rose and fell in shallow bursts. She couldn't move properly ... couldn't sit up. Her arms were tethered by IV and monitor lines. Something beeped rapidly beside her.

"Jason! Anna! Emma!"

The door burst open.

A nurse appeared, wide-eyed. "She's awake!"

Moments later, more staff flooded the room. A man in blue scrubs pushed through. "Elle, it's okay. You're safe. I'm Justin Chong one of the Doctors here. You've just regained consciousness. We're going to need you to keep calm. Try not to panic. Just breathe deeply try to relax, there are some things we need to do for you right now"

Elle's eyes darted around. "Where am I? Where's my husband? My kids?"

The nurse squeezed her hand. "Let the doctor explain in a minute. Just relax, breathe." The team fussed around her, monitor lines removed, replaced, IV bags replaced, lines flushed. Water to sip.

Dr. Chong pulled up a stool beside her bed. "Elle... You're in a long-term care facility. You've been here for quite some time. You suffered a stroke caused by a drug overdose. You've been in a coma."

Elle's mouth opened, but no words came. Her stomach twisted.

"What...? How long?"

Dr. Chong exhaled. "Eighteen months."

A sharp, hollow silence swallowed the room.

Eighteen months. A year and a half. Vanished. Nothing. No birthday mornings with Anna and Emma. No Christmases. No Jason.

"I... I don't remember. Jason's award night. I ... I was changing my shoes... it's gone. It's just ... gone."

Dr. Chong nodded slowly. "Memory loss is expected. You had high levels of multiple substances in your system. The damage was significant; we had to open you up to repair the bleed in your brain and ease the pressure. Also, besides the stroke you had other issues, but your body has done a really good job of repairing it's self while you've slept, you're showing remarkable signs of recovery."

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. "Where's Jason? Why isn't he here?"

Dr. Chong hesitated. "We've informed your emergency contacts. Your parents are arriving tomorrow. For now, Elle, you need to rest, you are going to find you will get very tired very quickly." He smiled warmly at her. "Welcome back Elle".

She turned her face into the pillow, sobbing.

*****

The next day, her parents arrived, faces aged by stress, eyes bloodshot.

Her mother rushed to her bedside, hugging her with trembling arms. Her father stood rigid by the door, jaw locked tight.

"You're awake ... you're really awake " her mother whispered. "Oh Baby, we've been so worried."

Elle clung to her. "What happened? What... what did I do? Where's Jason? Where are my girls?"

Her mother's face crumpled. "Sweetheart, we've wanted this moment for so long. But there's a lot you need to hear."

Her father stepped forward, voice gravelly. "You were found unconscious in a hotel suite with multiple drugs in your system. There were... other men."

"No. I don't remember that. I swear."

"You were drugged. You were assaulted. The police arrested the players involved. Marcus Ridley and three others."

Elle stared blankly. Her father continued.

"It took months. The case went to trial. The defence dragged everything out. They tore you and Jason apart. The media... they painted you like you were some celebrity groupie. Said you were a thrill-seeker. Promiscuous. They said Jason couldn't satisfy you. That you embarrassed him."

Her mother's hands shook. "We couldn't turn on the TV without seeing your face. Paparazzi were outside Jason's home. They followed the girls to school."

Elle gasped. "The girls... were they hurt? Are they okay?"

Her mother nodded. "They're safe. Jason kept them away from it all. He went to court, testified. He stood by your side when it mattered."

Her father added, "But the damage was... enormous."

"And Jason? Where is he? Why isn't he here?"

Her parents exchanged a long, strained look.

"He couldn't keep watching you like this," her mother finally said. "He visited every week. Sat here, talked to you, read to you. But when the trial ended, when the verdict came down... he needed space."

Elle's breath hitched. "Verdict?"

"Guilty. All four men. Convicted of rape and drug possession. Twelve years each."

She sank into the bed, eyes wide, mouth open, the silence pressing into her ears like a scream.

"Jason still brings the girls to our place," her father added gently. "But he hasn't lived in your house since July."

Elle closed her eyes.

The pain, the guilt, the hollow gaps in her memory ... all of it threatened to crush her.

"I want to see him," she whispered. "Please."

Her mother ran fingers through her hair. "We'll call. But be prepared. He's not the same man you remember. He's not the same person."

Elle stared at the ceiling.

Neither was she.

*****

When the call came, Jason was in his car in his driveway, engine off, radio playing low. He didn't answer at first. Just watched the screen light up with her mother's name.

Then he picked up.

"She's awake," her mother said. "Elle's asking for you."

Jason said nothing for a long time.

Later that night, he sat on the floor of his lounge room, arms resting on his knees. The house was silent. The girls were asleep upstairs. All around him were photos... family holidays, beach days, Christmas mornings.

He had imagined this moment a thousand times.

He had prayed she'd die.

He had prayed she'd wake up and crawl back to him begging for forgiveness.

And now, here it was.

He loved her.

He hated what she'd done.

He had stood by her when the entire world turned their back. He'd faced every camera, every headline, every sneering lawyer. He had been called weak, pathetic. A man who couldn't satisfy his wife, couldn't keep her. A man so bland, so irrelevant, that she sought escape in the arms of others.

He'd swallowed it all. For the girls. For her.

He'd held their daughters while they cried at night. Held his breath when the phone rang, wondering if it was the hospital telling him she was gone.

And still he had sat by her bed.

Month after month.

He had whispered to her unconscious body, over, and over: "Why? Why did you do this? Why again? On my night. On the one night that was mine."

He had wanted to scream at her, call her names. Break things. Break her.

But she never answered.

And now she was awake.

The next morning, he sat down with the girls at breakfast. Emma, now seven, and Anna, five, looked up from their cereal.

"Mum's awake," he said.

They blinked.

Emma spoke first. "Is she... better?"

"She's getting there. She doesn't remember much. But the doctors say she's going to recover."

Emma clutched her spoon. "Is she coming to live with us?"

Jason swallowed. "Not yet. She's still in the hospital."

Anna asked, "Will the TV people come back?"

He looked away. "No. I won't let them. Not again."

They nodded, unsure. Guarded.

Jason felt it too.

Hope, guilt, and a quiet, festering anger that hadn't gone anywhere.

He looked at his daughters. Then toward the door.

He would go see her.

But not to forgive.

Not yet.

*****

Elle sat propped up in her hospital bed, fingers tracing the edges of the blanket. Her legs ached, her body still foreign, like it belonged to someone else. The sun through the blinds was warm but did little to shake the chill inside her.

The door opened.

She looked up.

Jason.

She almost didn't recognize him.

He looked older. Not just the new streaks of grey at his temples or the crow's feet etched deeper than she remembered. He looked... hollow. Like something had been scooped out of him and never replaced.

His shoulders were squared, but not proud ... tense. His jaw was tight. His eyes, once so quick to smile at her, were tired. Distant.

She burst into tears.

"Jason..."

He nodded but didn't approach immediately. He stood by the door, studying her like a stranger.

"You're awake," he said flatly.

"I didn't know if you'd come."

"I wasn't sure I would either."

She tried to sit up straighter. "I want to see the girls. I want to go home."

Jason stepped forward, but only slightly. "We need to talk first. Just us. We need to figure out what this looks like moving forward."

Elle nodded quickly. "Yes, okay. Just tell me... where are you living now? Why aren't you in the house? What happened at the Dinner? I remember getting dressed. That's all. I took off the red heels because they made me feel cheap. I ... "

She broke off, eyes wild with panic.

"I remember nothing, Jason. Nothing. But I feel... wrong. I feel shame I don't understand. I wake up from dreams of you ... bright, glowing ... and me, fading into the dark. I don't know why. But I know I hurt you. I know I destroyed something."

Jason sat in the chair beside her, but he didn't take her hand.

"After the Awards, you left with Marcus Ridley. And three other players. The next time anyone saw you, you were unconscious in a hotel suite, half-dressed, overdosed. You been raped and ... assaulted. The trial tore our lives apart. The media turned you into a scandal and me into a doormat."

Elle's face crumpled. "I don't remember. I swear. I didn't mean to ... "

"That's the thing," Jason said quietly. "I believe you. But that doesn't erase what happened. The pain, the chaos, the months of hell that followed. The things I had to endure ... for you, for the girls."

"I just want to go home," she whispered.

Jason looked away. "It's not that simple."

"Please. Just tell me it's going to be okay. That we can get through this."

He looked her in the eyes then, and she saw something break in him.

"Elle... things will never be the same. You need to understand that. Your actions ... even if you don't remember them ... have consequences. The world didn't stop when you went to sleep."

Tears streamed down her cheeks. "How can I make this right when I don't even know what I did? How can I atone for something I have no memory of?"

Jason stood slowly.

"Maybe you can't. Maybe that's what we must figure out. But this ... whatever this is ... it starts with honesty. And the truth is, I don't know if I can forgive you. Not yet."

She didn't speak.

He turned to leave, then paused at the door.

"The girls ask about you. They're scared. Guarded. They want to see you ... but they also want to be safe. And that's all I've cared about since this started. Keeping them safe."

Elle nodded through her tears. "Then I'll wait. I'll wait until they're ready. Until you're ready."

Jason said nothing more.

And then he was gone.

*****

Jason sat at the dining table in his parent's kitchen; his hands wrapped around a mug of lukewarm tea he hadn't touched. The house was quiet, the smell of eucalyptus blowing in through the screen door. He stared at the wood grain in the table like it might give him an answer.

His father sat across from him, arms folded, face unreadable. His mother washed dishes slowly at the sink but wasn't pretending not to listen.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Jason finally said. His voice was low, hoarse. "I sat across from her today and she was... her. The old Elle. Before everything. Before the betrayals, before the coma, before the fallout."

His mother turned off the tap but stayed quiet.

Jason looked up, eyes red. "She doesn't remember any of it. And it's driving me insane. She smiles like she used to. Cries like she means it. And it breaks me because I want to hate her, but I don't. I can't."

His father leaned forward. "You love her."

"I don't even know who I love anymore," Jason snapped. "I loved the woman she was. The mother she became. But I hate the woman who put us through hell. The one who left that night. The one who got in that car, or that Uber, or whatever the fuck it was. The one who disappeared and left me holding everything. Who left the girls wondering why Mummy never came home."

His mother spoke quietly from the sink. "But that's not the woman who woke up."

Jason rubbed his face. "Exactly. She's not the woman who left. But she's also not the woman who can give me the answers I've needed for eighteen months. She didn't even know why she took her heels off. That's the last memory she has ... putting on red shoes and deciding they made her look cheap. Everything after that? Gone."

His father shifted in his seat. "You want to know why. Why she left with him. Why she threw it all away."

Jason's voice dropped to a whisper. "I need to know. I need to know if it was because of me. If I failed her. If it was just some impulse or if she wanted to hurt me. If she was chasing something I never gave her."

His father looked him dead in the eyes. "And what if you got your answer? What would it change now?"

Jason blinked. "I don't know."

"Exactly. The only person who could've given you that answer doesn't exist anymore. And the woman lying in that hospital bed isn't hiding the truth ... she doesn't know. So, you have to ask yourself the real question."

Jason's voice cracked. "What question?"

"Do you love the woman in that bed? And if you do ... What do you want?"

Jason dropped his head into his hands. "I want her back. I want my wife. I want my family. I want to stop hurting."

His father nodded slowly. "Then you're asking her to make amends for a memory she doesn't own. She can't be sorry for something she doesn't remember. So, what does atonement look like when guilt isn't felt but only carried by others?"

Jason lifted his head. "I don't know. But it doesn't feel fair. I've carried this alone for so long. I've cried in the dark, screamed in the shower. And she just wakes up with a blank slate."

His mother turned around, drying her hands on a tea towel. "She didn't ask for that blank slate, Jason. And waking up doesn't mean she didn't suffer. Her body's been torn, traumatised. Her mind's broken in places she can't even see. You want punishment. You want someone to pay. But sometimes life doesn't work like that."

Jason's jaw clenched. "She should pay. Someone should. This happened to us."

His father exhaled. "So then make a choice. Bring her home or don't. Let her see the girls or don't. But don't drag this out expecting closure that doesn't exist. And don't punish the version of Elle that's here now for what another version of her did. You'll only destroy what's left."

Jason looked out the window, voice barely audible. "The girls asked if she was coming home. Anna asked if the TV people were coming back. They're scared. They remember the ... noise."

His father nodded. "Then think of them when you decide. What's best for them? What gives them safety? Love? Stability? What gives you peace?"

Jason sat back in his chair, exhausted.

"I want her to try. That's all. Even if she doesn't remember it ... I want her to fight for us. For them."

His father leaned in again, gentler this time. "Then let her. But understand this: forgiveness won't come because she proves she's worthy. It'll come because you decide she is ... even if you never get the why you want."

Jason said nothing.

He stayed at the table, staring into nothing, the war inside him far from over.

*****

Jason sat cross-legged on the lounge room carpet, a bowl of popcorn between his knees and his daughters on either side of him. The TV was on but muted ... Frozen playing in the background ... they weren't really watching.

Emma, seven, curled against his arm. Anna, five, hugged a stuffed elephant tight to her chest. He took a deep breath.

"Girls," he said gently. "Can we talk for a minute?"

Emma looked up first, alert and wary. Anna stayed quiet, gripping her elephant a little tighter.

"It's about Mum."

Their eyes didn't leave him.

"You know she's awake now. The doctors say she's getting stronger every day."

Emma shifted. "Is she still in the hospital?"

"Yes. But she's asked to see you both. And she wants to come home... maybe not right away, but soon."

Anna's lip quivered. "Is the house still the same? Her room?"

"Her things are in the granny flat," Jason admitted. "But the house is still your home. Her home, too."

Silence.

Jason rested a hand on Emma's back. "I need to ask you something. Something important. Do you want to see Mum?"

Emma nodded slowly. "Yes. I miss her."

"Me too," Anna whispered.

Jason's throat tightened. "Do you want her to come home?"

Emma didn't answer right away. She bit her lip. "I want her home... but I'm scared."

"Why, sweetheart?" Jason asked gently.

"What if she doesn't love us anymore? What if she forgot how to be our mum?"

Jason wrapped an arm around her. "She loves you. So much. She asked about you the minute she woke up. You're the first thing she wanted to know about."

Anna looked up. "Will the TV people come back? The ones who shouted at school?"

Jason's jaw clenched. He softened his voice. "No. I won't let that happen again. I'll protect you. I promise."

Emma's voice was barely a whisper. "What if she gets sick again? What if she goes away? What if... what if she does something bad again and you get sad like before?"

Jason pulled both girls into his lap, holding them close.

"I don't know what will happen, girls. But we're going to talk to Mum, together. We'll see how things feel. We won't do anything unless we all feel safe and ready."

They nodded, snuggling closer.

Anna looked up. "Will you be with us when we see her?"

"Always."

Emma looked at him, eyes serious. "Do you still love her?"

Jason didn't answer right away. He stroked her hair.

"I love you both more than anything. And I'm trying to figure out what's best for all of us. That's what love looks like sometimes... being careful, being honest, even when it's hard."

The girls didn't fully understand, but they trusted him. For now, that was enough.

*****

Jason held Emma's hand in his right and Anna's in his left as they stepped through the entrance of the care facility. The girls were quiet, subdued in a way that made Jason's heart ache. Their eyes darted around the sterile hallway, taking in the strange environment, beeping, hushed voices, movement everywhere, the smell of disinfectant.

His mother followed a few steps behind, carrying snacks and sketchbooks in case the visit became overwhelming.

When they reached Room 213, Jason paused.

"You girls ready?"

Emma gave the faintest nod. Anna clutched his leg, then let go and squared her tiny shoulders.

He opened the door.

Elle sat up in bed, pale but alert. Her eyes locked on her daughters, and her breath hitched as if the air had been knocked out of her.

"Oh my God... Anna? Emma?"

Both girls ran to her, all hesitation forgotten. They threw their arms around her, one on each side, clinging to her like they never wanted to let go.

Elle sobbed into their hair, arms trembling as she wrapped them around her daughters. "You're so big," she whispered. "You're so beautiful. I missed you so much. Every single day."

Emma leaned back just enough to look at her. "Why did you go away, Mummy? Why did you leave us?"

Anna added, "Why were people so mean to Daddy? They said bad things. They yelled at us at school."

Elle's voice cracked. "I didn't want to leave. I didn't choose to. Something terrible happened, and I got very sick. And the people who said those things about Daddy. They were wrong. So wrong. Your dad is the strongest man I've ever known."

Emma's eyes shimmered. "But are you better now? Are you coming home?"

Elle looked to Jason. Her throat clenched. "I hope so, sweetheart. I want to. But the doctors need to help me first. I need to get stronger."

Anna frowned. "Will the TV people come back if you do?"

Elle kissed her forehead. "I don't know, baby. But I promise we'll do everything to keep you safe. All of us."

Jason finally stepped closer, crouching beside them. "Mummy's going to come home as soon as the doctors say she can. That's a promise."

Elle's mother-in-law gently cleared her throat from the doorway. "Alright, girls. Let's give Mummy and Daddy some time to talk."

The girls protested, clinging tighter, but Elle whispered to them. "I'll see you soon, okay? Go with Grandma. Be good."

She kissed them again, over, and over, like she was afraid they might vanish.

Once the door shut behind them, the silence was heavier.

Jason sat in the chair beside her bed. Dr. Chong entered a moment later, a tablet in hand.

"Hi Jay, Elle," he began, "Ok, so where are we, Elle, physically, you've come a long way. Cognitively, you're still struggling with gaps, but there's been excellent progress."

Elle looked at Jason. "If I want to ... can go home... what does that look like?"

Dr. Chong pulled up a chair. "There will be conditions. You'll need full-time outpatient support at first, right now you can't even look after your own hygiene, that support will be needed for the next 4 to 6 months. Then there is the physiotherapy, intensive sessions 2 or 3 times a day for 6 months or so, depending on how you're handling it, then once or twice a week for another year. It's going to be bloody hard, then there's Occupational Therapy and trauma counselling. No driving, no cooking, nothing domestic, no full child supervision alone for the first few months, nothing that is likely to get your blood pressure up. Medications for sleep and neurological stability, medication for pain, blood thinners. Regular check-ins. You'll tire easily. Emotionally, it may be overwhelming."

Elle nodded slowly. "And if I don't go home?"

Jason answered, his voice low. "Then we stay stuck. You in here. Us out there. The girls need you. I need to know if we're even capable of rebuilding what we had."

Elle's eyes welled. "What if I can't give you what you need anymore? What if I can't be her again?"

Jason reached forward and took her hand. "Then we build something new. But I can't carry all of it alone anymore. You have to fight. You have to meet me halfway."

She gripped his fingers tightly. "I will. I'll do whatever it takes."

Dr. Chong stood, looking at Jason. "I'll have the discharge plan drafted. If all goes well, you could be home in two or three weeks ... with the right support."

Elle and Jason nodded in unison.

And for the first time in a long time, there was something like hope in the room.

*****

The weeks leading up to Elle's discharge moved with the quiet intensity of a brewing storm. Jason and the girls were back in the house. But it was changing too.

Jason stood in the main bedroom, sleeves rolled up, watching as two delivery workers carefully assembled a hospital-grade bed beside the window. The old bed had been dismantled and hauled into storage, along with the matching nightstands. In its place came low-friction mats, a walker, support bars drilled into the wall near the ensuite, and a recliner for visitors, table for therapists and careers to use. It was no longer a couple's bedroom ... it was a care space.

The house smelled like fresh paint and antiseptic. The hospital coordinator had insisted on anti-slip vinyl for the floor and wide clearance for the wheelchair Elle would initially use. Everything was rearranged for function, not memory.

Jason stood alone in the space, surrounded by ghosts. The headboard had once been scratched by Emma's first attempt to climb in as a toddler. The ensuite mirror still bore a faint pink smudge from Elle's lipstick the night of their sixth anniversary.

Now it was medical. Now it was survival.

Down the hallway, his mother coordinated grocery lists with Elle's nurse ... Margot, calm and competent, with soft hands and an iron will. She would move into the spare room next to the kitchen, available 24/7 for Elle's care.

Jason had moved his things into the granny flat.

He told himself it was temporary.

Anna and Emma would rotate between his parents and Elle's for after-school care. Jason needed to return to work. His editor had been more than understanding, but the world didn't stop. Football season didn't pause for grief or healing.

At dusk, he sat in the flat with a beer untouched on the table and stared at the bed. Smaller than the one inside. It felt like a holding cell.

The guilt pressed hard against his chest.

He wanted to take care of Elle. He needed to protect her. That instinct hadn't died, even after everything. But the other side of him ... the part that still winced when he closed his eyes ... couldn't forget the woman who left him that night. Who disappeared. Who detonated their lives and left him to sweep up the pieces.

And yet, that woman was gone.

Elle didn't remember. Not just claimed not to ... she truly didn't. The neurologist had shown the brain scans. The blankness was real. The blackout total.

So how did you hold someone accountable for a ghost?

How could you ask for repentance when the sinner didn't know they sinned?

He wrestled with the logic and the emotion every night. He knew grace was supposed to be unconditional. He'd read enough scripture growing up. But grace felt like surrender. Forgiveness felt like permission.

And yet, he saw the way Elle looked at the girls. Heard the desperation in her voice when she asked about them. Watched shame flicker in her eyes even when she couldn't name what she'd done.

Jason closed his eyes and whispered into the dark: "I don't know how to hate her. And I don't know how to love her without conditions anymore."

He didn't expect an answer.

Just silence.

*****

The conference room was quiet except for the rustle of papers and the clink of a spoon stirring a coffee Jason wasn't drinking.

He sat at one end of a long table, flanked by his attorney and friend, Malcolm Reid ... a seasoned, blunt legal tactician with an eye for vengeance ... and Lilly Tran, the legal counsel from the newspaper where Jason had spent the last decade building his name.

A folder sat in front of each of them, thick and bursting with documentation. Jason had barely glanced at his.

Malcolm started. "Now that the trial's wrapped, and the verdicts are in, it's time to shift gears. You've been dragged through the mud, Jason. Professionally. Personally. Publicly. It's time to start pushing back."

Jason leaned back. "So, what are we talking about here?"

Lilly spoke next, her tone crisp. "Three major fronts. First ... the TV network. You'd just signed a five-year on-air contract when everything went public. They tore it up, citing their morality clause."

"Because my wife was raped."

"Because it made them look bad," Lilly corrected. "And because they're neck-deep in partnerships with the team those four players belonged to. That includes Marcus Ridley. Their golden boy."

Malcolm nodded. "You were collateral damage. They didn't want their prime-time host associated with a scandal. Never mind that you were the victim of it."

Jason's jaw tightened. "So, what happens now?"

"We go after the contract," Malcolm said. "Full payout of the remaining years, plus damages for career disruption, reputation loss, and emotional distress. Alternatively, we push for reinstatement ... on your terms ... with an additional settlement for what they put you through."

Jason frowned. "Would I even want to go back?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. But they don't get to walk away clean," Malcolm said. "Second ... we hit their media assets."

Lilly slid a sheet across to Jason. "Their flagship newspaper and two of their sports magazines published stories that weren't just speculative. They were defamatory. Flat-out character assassination."

Jason read one of the headlines aloud: "Spineless: How Jason Merchant's Silence Made Him a Liability."

"They dragged your name through the dirt to protect their investments," Lilly said. "And conveniently, all these publications are owned by the same billionaire who owns the network. We've got our crosshairs locked."

"Then once we have a judgement against the big guys we're going after everyone else, every stinking blogger, influencer and bottom feeding podcaster who bought into their bullshit. Fuck, I intend to scare the shit out of everyone who made a snarky comment on Facebook or Instagram or fucking X. It's about time every pearl clutching social justice warrior out there who weighed in with their worthless opinion was called to account and Mr Fox will pay for it all." The look in Malcom's eyes as he made his speech gave Jason chills and Malcom was on his side.

Jason rubbed his eyes. "What about Marcus himself?"

Malcolm's voice dropped, more serious. "That's the big one. Slander. Defamation. Intentional infliction of emotional distress. He made targeted, public comments about you in interviews, podcasts, social media. Statements designed to humiliate you. To paint you as weak, irrelevant, even complicit."

Jason's fists clenched under the table. "I remember."

"We're filing two suits--one on your behalf, one on Elle's," Malcolm continued. "The second includes repayment of all medical expenses, the home modifications, and an eight-figure damages demand."

Jason hesitated. "He's in prison. Will there even be anything left to get from him?"

Malcolm allowed a small smile. "I've already filed our intent to claim. His assets are frozen until all legal matters are resolved. Marcus was wealthy. Endorsements, real estate, offshore accounts. We're digging into all of it."

Lilly added, "And everything we've uncovered paints a picture. He's not just reckless. He's a predator. He found vulnerable women, manipulated them, used them. This isn't about one night. It's a pattern. He is only 23 and he has a trail of destruction going back to high school "

Jason's voice was quiet. "Elle was vulnerable. She was drifting before the gala. I saw it. I just... I didn't want to see it."

"He saw it too," Malcolm said. "And he exploited it. That's who he is. And now, that's how we take him down."

Lilly leaned forward. "Our paper is preparing a series of exposés. Stories about the cost victims and their families have paid--because of the predators these networks and sponsors protected."

Jason raised an eyebrow. "Me? A story?"

She didn't flinch. "We'll make it clear you're not just a bystander. You're a father. A husband. A man who stood through hell and didn't break. It's time that story was told. Maybe the public will finally see you for what you are."

Jason blinked. "What's that?"

Malcolm answered.

"A fucking hero."

*****

Elle was learning how to be home again. Every morning started with assisted stretches and physio, followed by small victories ... walking to the kitchen without help, brushing her daughters' hair while they sat on stools beside her, standing long enough to bake cookies with them, gleefully defying her restrictions. Her body still fought her, but she was winning more often now.

Jason had returned to work. She saw the difference in him immediately. He had a rhythm again. Purpose. But something else too ... a gentleness toward her recovery, a steadiness that both comforted and confused her. He spoke to her with kindness, even helped her with stretches, prepared dinner with the girls when she was too tired. But the space between them hadn't closed. He still lived in the granny flat. He still hadn't touched her.

Still, she caught him watching her sometimes ... when she laughed with the girls, or managed the stairs at the park by herself. She even saw him smile.

She'd gone to watch the girls' soccer game the past Saturday, sitting under a shaded awning with her mother and Margot. Her daughters beamed every time they looked over. Afterward, her mum had taken them to McDonald's, just like they used to do.

It felt... almost normal.

But that night, she learned about the lawsuits.

She'd overheard part of a phone call ... Jason talking to Malcolm, his lawyer. Phrases like "network payout," "emotional distress," and "media campaign" sliced through her like razors. She waited until after dinner, until the nurse was gone, until the girls were asleep.

Jason was cleaning up dishes when she rolled into the kitchen in her chair.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked softly.

He looked up, wary. "Tell you what?"

"The lawsuits. The media campaign. The fact that I'm being represented without even knowing it."

Jason dried his hands with a towel. "I wasn't hiding it. I just didn't think you were ready to ..."

"To what?" Elle snapped. "To know that my name is being paraded through courtrooms again. That I'm being packaged and presented like a product?"

Jason sighed, leaning on the counter. "It's not about you being a product. It's about justice. You were hurt. We were all hurt. They don't get to walk away from that."

Elle stared at him. "But I put myself there, Jason. I may not remember what happened, but I know who I was before that night. I was slipping. I was reckless. I wanted attention. You know that. I didn't protect myself. I didn't protect you. I didn't protect the girls."

Jason's jaw clenched. "You were drugged and raped, Elle. You were left for dead. That's not your fault."

"I know," she said, eyes wet. "But that doesn't make me innocent. I was drifting long before that night ... and I want to face it. All of it. I want the world to see what happens when you try to fill a hole in yourself with admiration and danger. I want to tell the truth ... not just the courtroom version, the real version."

Jason looked stunned. "You want to go public?"

"I want to own it," she said. "I want to speak. I want to write. I want to show our daughters what it means to take responsibility, even when it's messy. Even when it costs you. I want to be a cautionary tale, if it helps someone else not make the same mistake."

He sat down across from her, folding his hands.

Jason was quiet for a moment, this was it, this is what he'd wanted ... he'd wanted her to show him who she was ... he'd wanted her to fight ... and now she was.

"You really think you're strong enough for that?"

"No," Elle whispered. "But I must be. Because if I don't make meaning out of this, then all I'm doing is surviving. And I want to do more than survive. I want to be someone they're proud of."

Jason's eyes softened. "They already are. They don't need a hero. They need their mum."

"And what about you?" she asked. "What do you need?"

He looked at her for a long moment. Then finally: "This ... and time. And to believe that maybe one day, I can let go of what happened ... without letting go of you."

Elle reached across the table and covered his hand with hers.

"Then let's start there."

*****

From Jason's point of view, it didn't feel like a resurgence. It felt like a siege.

The lawsuits dropped on a Thursday morning, and within hours, it was everywhere. The front page of every major outlet that didn't have a financial stake in the old machine. Network vultures had turned on their own, and suddenly Jason and Elle were no longer broken remnants of a scandal ... they were symbols of the reckoning.

Jason's phone wouldn't stop ringing. Emails flooded in. Offers for interviews. Panel appearances. Podcast specials. Malcolm, always ten steps ahead, had already brought in a publicist, Rachel Crain ... slick, controlled, and so beautifully cold-blooded. She coordinated every moment.

Elle's appearances stunned everyone. She didn't perform grief. She didn't play the victim. She looked into every camera with clear, unflinching eyes and told the truth.

"I flirted. I left with him. I was reckless. I was looking for something. But I didn't ask for this. No woman ever asks to be drugged. No woman asks to be raped. Flirting is not consent. Flirting is not an invitation. My recklessness was my own ... but what they did to me was a crime."

Jason watched from backstage during her first live sit-down. His stomach twisted as he heard the tremble in her voice and saw the tears in her eyes ... but she never broke. She owned her past. She condemned her attackers. And she refused to let them define her. And he was so fucking proud of her.

Jason's own statements were more scathing.

He condemned the networks. The billionaire media mogul who had buried the truth and tried to destroy them. He exposed the culture of silence that had protected players like Marcus. He named the sponsors. He named the executives.

"These aren't isolated incidents," he told a live national panel. "This is a business model. Networks back athletes like Marcus Ridley because they draw ratings. So, when they behave like predators, they bury it. Spin it. Use people like me and Elle to take the fall. That's not a moral failure. That's a business decision. And the public deserves to know."

The backlash was swift ... and brutal.

Advertisers began pulling sponsorships within days. Viewer ratings for the network dropped to record lows. The flagship news magazine that smeared Jason lost a third of its subscribers in two weeks. AFL players for Marcus's former team were booed every time they stepped onto the field. Club members and season ticket holders cancelled en masse. The club's main sponsor, a global financial group, withdrew.

Jason sat in the granny flat, exhausted but burning with quiet resolve. The girls were asleep inside the house. Elle was upstairs, recovering from a long afternoon of interviews and physio. And he... he finally felt like the weight of silence had lifted.

He turned on the news.

The anchor's voice was tight, almost stunned.

"In a rare move, the Crown Prosecution Service has filed an appeal against the leniency of Marcus Ridley's sentence. The original 12-year term is being challenged as inadequate, given the gravity of the charges and the impact on the victims. The CPS is seeking the maximum penalty allowed by law ... eighteen years."

Jason turned off the television and sat in the dark, Marcus was fucked, and it felt ... so good.

It wasn't over.

But finally ... finally ... justice was catching up.

*****

Six months later, Elle stepped out of her car with the slight sway of someone who'd been poked, prodded, and scanned all day. Her left side still reminded her of the stroke when she was tired, but her body was hers again. She could walk. Drive. Run around with the girls. Life had started to look like life again.

She spotted the delivery truck in front of the house before she noticed the cardboard piles by the garage. Her stomach clenched.

Something was happening.

Elle made her way up the front steps, cane in hand more from habit than necessity. Inside, the house was calm. The girls were curled up on cushions on the carpet in front of the TV, giggling over something.

"Hey, munchkins," she said. "What's happening?"

Emma looked up. "We're watching Dad!"

Elle blinked, confused. She looked from the girls to the screen. There was Jason hosting his Sports Panel Show. "No, I mean ... what's happening here? ... where is he?"

Anna pointed down the hall, not taking her eyes off the screen. "In the bedroom."

Elle's heart ticked faster.

Two delivery men passed by with a trolley, pushing an empty box out the door, nodding to her.

She followed the sound of motion and soft footsteps, her cane tapping gently against the hardwood floor. When she reached the bedroom door, she froze.

It was completely different.

Gone were the hospital bed, the cold white grab bars, the therapy mats. In their place: soft new carpet, a king-sized bed with slate blue linen, dark wood furniture with brass handles, fresh curtains that fluttered slightly in the afternoon breeze. Their wedding photo, long removed after the hospital gear was moved in, now hung above a new makeup table, lit by soft globe lights.

It looked like a bedroom again.

Jason stood in the walk-in closet, sleeves rolled up, hanging his shirts.

She stepped inside slowly, her voice small. "What is all this?"

He glanced over his shoulder with a smile. "Like the colours?"

Elle stared at the space, the feeling of home washing over her in warm waves.

"You're... moving back in?" she asked.

Jason nodded, hanging the last shirt, turning toward her. "Yeah. I thought it was time."

She swallowed. "Why now?"

He stepped closer. "Because you're better. And we're... better. Maybe not perfect. I don't think we ever really were. But now we're as close as we are going to get."

Her voice was barely above a whisper. "You're sleeping here?"

He nodded again, this time softer. "If that's still okay with you."

She crossed the room, fingers brushing over the new bedspread. Then she looked up at him.

"Well," she said, a slow smile growing, "we really should try this new bed out."

Jason raised a brow. "We should, huh?"

Elle leaned in, her breath warm against his collarbone. "It's been a while."

His hands slid gently around her waist, lifting her. "Two and a half years."

"What about the girls?" she murmured.

He grinned, then lowered her onto the bed. "Babe... I don't think it's going to last very long at all."

It didn't.

And when they were lying together afterward, tangled in each other, hearts thudding, breaths shaky ... Jason kissed her forehead.

"You're home," he whispered.

She smiled through tears.

"So are you."