I Loved Him to Death

I dragged my exhausted body toward the apartment building, each step feeling like walking on knife edges. Sixteen hours of emergency room hell had just ended, and my scrubs still carried the mixed scent of disinfectant and blood.

Tonight had been three emergency surgeries, two car accident victims, and one teenager who'd overdosed on pills and almost didn't make it back.

'Another painkiller overdose.'

I closed my eyes in the elevator, trying to push away those images. But what hurt more was knowing what waited for me at home.

The moment the elevator doors opened, I took a deep breath, preparing for another battle.

Faint light seeped from the apartment—not the usual warm living room glow, but something dim and oppressive. I turned the key quietly, trying not to make noise, but the metallic scraping still sounded harsh in the silence.

As soon as I cracked the door open, I saw him.

Magnus sat on the couch with his back to the door, holding a syringe in his right hand, about to inject it into his left arm. At the sound of the door opening, his body went rigid, then he quickly shoved the syringe under the couch cushion. When he turned around, those blue eyes that had once been as gentle as the ocean held nothing but wariness and hostility.

"You're back." His voice was cold as winter wind.

I stood in the doorway, medical bag still hanging from my shoulder, looking at this stranger in front of me. Where was the Magnus who used to sweat over operating tables, saving lives?

Now sitting before me was an unshaven, hollow-eyed stranger. But the wedding ring was still on his finger—the one he'd promised never to take off when we got married.

"You waited up for me?" I tried to make my voice sound gentle, though I already knew what his reaction would be.

Magnus let out a cold laugh that stabbed at my heart. "I was waiting for you to report what new evidence you collected on me today."

'Here we go again.' I smiled bitterly to myself. Every night coming home was the same conversation, every day he became more convinced I was a spy sent by the hospital to monitor him. Drug addiction hadn't just destroyed his body—worse, it was twisting his mind.

"Magnus, don't do this..." I set down my medical bag, wanting to go to him.

"Don't touch me!" He jumped up, backing away several steps like I carried some kind of virus. "You think I don't know what you're doing?"

I stopped, feeling my heart being squeezed tight. "What am I doing?"

"Stop pretending! Keep pretending!" Magnus's voice grew more shrill. "You think I can't see it? Every time I use, you're secretly recording. You're collecting evidence to hand over to the hospital board, aren't you?"

"Magnus, I'm your wife. I just want to help you..."

"Wife?" He cut me off, the madness in his eyes frightening me. "You're a spy the hospital sent to monitor me! They know I'm still accessing drugs privately, so they sent the perfect undercover agent—my wife!"

Tears blurred my vision. This wasn't the first time, but hearing these words still shattered my heart into pieces. I wanted to explain, to tell him the truth, but I knew it was useless. In his delusional world, I was the enemy, the one trying to destroy him.

"Is that really what you think?" My voice trembled.

"I don't think—I know!" Magnus clenched his fists. "You think I'm an idiot? You think I haven't noticed the way you look at me? That analyzing, recording, ready-to-report look!"

I wanted to argue, to tell him it was love, worry, heartache. But the words stuck in my throat. I knew that no matter what I said, he'd hear lies, traps.

"I'm tired, Magnus." I turned toward the bedroom. "Let's talk tomorrow."

"Running away? Is that your strategy?" He mocked from behind me. "Done collecting today's intelligence, ready to go write your report?"

I didn't turn back, heading straight for the bedroom. Behind me, I heard Magnus sit back down on the couch and the rustling sound of him searching for something. I knew he was looking for the syringe he'd hidden.

The moment the bedroom door closed, I finally broke down crying.

Half an hour later, I heard Magnus go into the study next to the living room, followed by the sound of the door slamming shut. I knew he wouldn't come to the bedroom—we'd been sleeping separately for three months.

I changed out of my scrubs, washed up quickly, then returned to the living room. Several empty medicine bottles were scattered on the floor, along with a used syringe. I knelt down and picked up these "pieces of evidence" one by one.

'His injection dosage has increased again.' Looking at the residue in the syringe, my heart tightened. As an ER head nurse, I knew exactly what this meant. The dependency was getting worse—he needed more drugs to achieve the same effect.

My phone suddenly vibrated.

I glanced at the screen—an email notification from the hospital's internal system. 2:47 AM—who sends emails at this hour?

Opening the email, my blood turned to ice.

[Progress Report on the Reopened Investigation of Dr. Magnus Eriksson's Medical Malpractice Case]

The sender was the hospital board office.

My hands began to shake. Magnus's medical malpractice case had been closed for over a year. Why reopen it now? I quickly scanned the email content, which mentioned new evidence and a need to investigate Magnus's recent drug usage records.

'They're collecting evidence of Magnus's illegal drug procurement.'

I immediately opened the hospital's internal system, entering my administrator login. As ER head nurse, I had clearance to access pharmacy inventory records. The screen quickly displayed Magnus's drug requisition records from the past three months.

Every single entry was a ticking time bomb.

He'd used former colleagues' accounts to obtain massive amounts of opioid painkillers, far exceeding reasonable medical needs. If the hospital board saw these records, not only would it eliminate any chance of him regaining his medical license, but worse—he could face criminal charges.

I didn't hesitate. I began deleting the records.

With each click of the delete key, my heart raced faster. I knew what I was doing—destroying evidence, covering up illegal behavior by a drug addict. If discovered, I'd lose my job, my nursing license, maybe even face legal consequences.

But I didn't care.

'He's my husband.' I told myself. 'Even if he hates me, even if he sees me as the enemy, I won't let anyone destroy him.'