After Husband Sent Me to Asylum, Director Called Me Chairwoman

The day my husband checked me into the psychiatric hospital, he told the doctor,

She's insane. Don't believe a single word she says.

I was strapped to the bed, the restraints rubbing my wrists raw.

Outside the door, my daughter stood crying as she watched me, until my husband covered her eyes.

Don't look at her. She'll hurt you.

I screamed her name over and over, but she just hid against him and asked in a small voice,

"Daddy, when is Mommy going to die?"

He didn't answer. He only had the lawyer set a thick stack of documents down in front of me.

...

I turned to the last page and saw the list of assets.

The house, the savings, the company shares, all of it to be managed on my behalf by Neil Dickerson.

The term of authorization was... permanent.

I looked up at him.

"You said this was only temporary guardianship."

"It is." Neil's face stayed calm. "You're a patient now. Of course you can't manage your own assets. Once you're well, I'll give it all back to you."

I stared at him, and then I laughed out loud.

He didn't understand why, but he laughed along with me.

"Doctor, you see? She's off on her nonsense again."

The doctor's face gave nothing away as he wrote a line in the chart.

Neil saw it and kept right on talking.

"Ninny's still out there. She's terrified of you. Sign, and I'll let her come in and see you."

I looked up at him, forcing down the fury inside me.

"And if I don't sign?"

"In your condition, no one can say how long the treatment will take. Maybe a few days. Maybe a few years."

His voice was as gentle as every other time he'd ever coaxed me.

I threw the pen back onto the table the second he finished.

"Give it up. I'm not signing."

The room went quiet for a few seconds, and every trace of gentleness drained from Neil's face.

He gave the doctor a nod, and the doctor picked up a syringe and came toward me.

I shrank back as hard as I could.

"You can't force me!"

My mother-in-law stood in the doorway and said coldly,

"A madwoman's words. Who's going to believe them?"

As the needle pierced my skin, the last thing I saw was Neil pulling our daughter close, his hand over her eyes.

He murmured against her ear, "Don't be afraid. Your mommy's just gone crazy. She needs treatment."

When I woke, the room was nothing but white walls.

Two restraints had been fastened around my wrists, and my ankles were tied down too.

The moment I moved even a little, the sensor by the bed started to beep.

A nurse came in to check my pupils.

"You're awake?"

I forced myself upright, dragging my body up off the bed.

"I want to see my daughter."

The nurse shook her head. "Family says you can't see her for now."

"Then I want to see Neil."

She didn't answer. She only set a new chart down at the foot of the bed.

I looked down at it.

It read: Patient claims to be persecuted by her husband, refuses treatment, exhibits severe persecutory delusions.

I let out a cold laugh.

Just then, I heard my daughter crying outside the door.

I shot upright, desperate to see her.

"Ninny! It's Mommy!"

The door opened a crack.

My daughter stood outside, Neil and my mother-in-law behind her.

I looked at her, my voice trembling.

"Ninny, come here to Mommy."

She didn't move.

Neil bent down and murmured something in her ear.

She lifted her head and looked at me, timid.

"Mommy, why did you try to hurt me?"

Something clenched hard around my heart.

"I didn't. You pushed me down first. I only wanted to catch hold of you."

She shook her head and shrank behind Neil.

"Daddy says you'll get me killed."

I looked at Neil.

"You taught her to say that?"

Neil put on a sorrowful expression.

"Vee, how could you slander me right in front of our child?"

"She saw you pick up the knife with her own eyes. Are you really going to force her to lie for you?"

My mother-in-law chimed in from the side.

"That's exactly what mental illness is. Never admitting a thing you've done."

Neil stroked our daughter's hair.

"Don't be scared. Daddy will protect you."

Her eyes filled with a fragile, wounded look, and she asked in a small voice.

"When can Mommy leave this place?"

Neil was silent for a moment.

When the nurse came over to change my dressing, her fingers brushed the corner of the chart, and she suddenly stopped.

"Mrs. Dickerson, have you ever had a serious mental illness before?"

"No."

"But it says here you were diagnosed seven years ago."

I looked at the chart, my expression wary.

That was wrong.

Seven years ago was the year my mother died. It was also the year the hospital's ownership changed hands.

"Who wrote this?"

The nurse was about to answer when footsteps sounded outside the door.

Neil pushed it open. "What did she say to you?"

The nurse immediately lowered her head.

"Nothing."

Neil walked over and pulled the chart out of her hands.

"You can't take anything a patient says seriously."

The nurse glanced at me and said nothing more.

Neil set another document down in front of me.

"The family company's been having cash-flow trouble lately. We owe a lot of money out there."

"And now you're in the hospital. Someone has to handle the assets under your name."

I opened the document.

It wasn't a temporary management authorization. It was a share-transfer agreement.

All Neil wanted was to use my time locked away to take every asset in my name that he could get his hands on.

I looked up at him.

"I thought this was temporary management?"

"What's the difference between managing it and transferring it?"

"It all belongs to the family in the end anyway."

He finally dropped the act, jabbing a finger at the agreement.

"I'm the one who's kept this family and this company afloat all these years. Hand the assets to me and at least the business keeps running. Leave them in your hands and you'll only destroy them!"

Understanding hit me all at once.

The husband-and-wife bond he kept talking about was nothing more than the last scrap of cover before the robbery.

That night, a video shot to the top of the local trending feeds.

In it, I moved step by step toward my daughter's bed, a fruit knife raised in my hand.

She was sobbing her heart out, and I didn't so much as flinch.

Neil held up his phone and read me the cruel comments word by word.

"Just admit you had an episode, and I'll have the video taken down."

"If you don't, this only gets worse. Do you really think you'll ever have a normal life after this?"

I heard what he was really saying.

His condition came down to one thing.

I had to admit I was sick, that I'd hurt my daughter, and give up control of everything in my name.

Otherwise, he'd file for a forensic evaluation and lock me in the closed ward.

He reached the door, then stopped.

"By the way, Ninny just asked me if her mommy doesn't want her anymore."

Late that night, the nurse came again with my medication.

She set the little cup down by the bed and lowered her voice.

"This isn't what you were prescribed today."

I looked at her.

"What do you mean?"

"This one isn't on your original prescription."

Her fingers were trembling. "Someone must have changed your orders."

I looked at the cup and didn't move.

She bit her lip, then pulled a folded slip of paper from her pocket.

"I found this in the archive room. It's all I can do."

A keycard beeped at the door, and she slipped the paper back into her pocket, acting as if nothing had happened.

Director James passed down the corridor with two doctors.

He didn't come into the room, just paused at the doorway for a second.

It was a short look, but not the way you'd look at an ordinary patient.

The next day, Neil showed up again with his lawyer.

This time, he brought our daughter.

She stood by the door, hugging that stuffed rabbit, staring at me with pleading eyes.

Neil laid the agreement on the table. "Sign it, and I'll get you discharged right away."

I looked at the document and still didn't move.

"Yesterday you said temporary management. How did it turn into a full transfer today?"

The lawyer pushed his glasses up.

"Ms. Dickerson, this is to keep you from harming your family again."

"You are currently not capable of managing your own assets."

The disinfectant smell in the room was sharp. The mother-in-law stood at the foot of the bed, staring at the agreement like it was an inheritance already carved up.

"Your mother was wrong to hand those shares to you in the first place. A woman can't hold on to a business. Give it to your husband, and at least it stays with us Dickersons!"

I understood then. They weren't waiting for me to get well. They were waiting for the moment my thumbprint went down on that paper.

Neil sat down beside our daughter.

"Ninny, tell your mommy. Once she signs, we can all go home."

She looked at me and hesitated.

"Mommy, just sign it. Daddy said if you sign, they won't lock you up anymore."

"Do you really want me to sign?"

She nodded.

"You scare me. When you held the knife, I was really scared."

Neil's hands closed on her shoulders at once.

"That's enough. Your mommy is sick now."

Then he turned to look at me.

"See? Even the child knows you need treatment."

I looked down at the agreement. Neil put the pen in my hand.

"Sign it. Don't let Ninny watch you lose your mind again."

I took the pen, and my daughter took a step back without thinking.

Neil smiled, satisfied.

"That's better."

The nib touched the paper.

But I didn't write my name. In the signature line, I scrawled a string of letters that meant nothing at all.

Neil frowned.

"What did you write?"

"My name."

"You don't even know your own name?"

I set the pen down.

"Didn't you say I was crazy?"

"Can a crazy woman's signature hold up in court?"

The lawyer's face changed.

Neil shot to his feet and slammed the document down in front of me.

"You're playing me?"

"You're the one who said I'm not competent."

"So what gives you the right to take anything I sign?"

My daughter stared at me, dazed.

Neil watched me like it was the first time he'd realized I wasn't as easy to control as he'd thought.

But soon enough he smiled again.

"How long do you think you can keep talking tough?" I've already filed for guardianship. Someone's coming to evaluate you tomorrow."

"And then every word you say will turn into a new symptom in your file."

He took out his phone and dialed a number.

"Get the evaluation materials ready. Especially the records of her past episodes, every last one."

The person on the other end hesitated.

"But she doesn't have any prior treatment records."

Neil glanced at me, and his voice went cold all at once.

"If there aren't any, then make some."

After Neil left, I leaned back against the headboard and stared at the ceiling.

Seven years ago, my mother died.

For seven years, I had believed my husband was helping me.

He sat in on the company meetings for me, handled the day-to-day operations for me, dealt with the creditors for me.

I handed him all of my trust.

Even the first time he suggested keeping the company seal for me, for safekeeping, I never doubted him.

Because back then, he told me.

"You're my wife. If I don't help you, who will?"

Looking back now, nearly every important company document over those years passed through his hands.

And all I ever got to see was whatever he chose to leave for me.

I used to think he was guarding the things that belonged to our family.

It turned out he was only waiting for me to let my guard down.

Late that night, an argument suddenly broke out in the corridor outside my room.

"This is a patient's private information. You can't just pull these files!"

"Seal every document, now. No one takes anything out of here!"

The door swung open.

Director James walked in with several staff members behind him.

Neil was among them.

He clearly hadn't expected the director to show up, and his face darkened at once.

"Director James, it's this late. What are you doing in the ward?"

The director ignored him and walked straight to my bedside.

"Ms. Dickerson, did you consent to today's medication yourself?"

I shook my head. "No."

He took the chart a nurse handed him, flipped to the last page of the diagnosis, pointed at the signature, and asked.

"Who signed this diagnosis?"

Neil cut in first.

"Her attending physician, obviously."

The director held the chart up in front of his face.

"Her attending physician's name is Reed. But the signature here is Percival Lawrence."

"Percival Lawrence resigned three months ago. How could he have diagnosed a patient admitted today?"

Neil's face froze.

"Maybe the hospital called him back for a consultation."

"A man who left three months ago somehow gets into the hospital system and edits a patient's medical history?"

The director closed the chart.

"Neil, you'd better explain, clearly, exactly who forged this diagnosis."

The room went dead silent.

Watching them, the director understood perfectly.

"First, seal all of the surveillance footage since her admission, the original prescriptions, and every record of changes to the system."

Neil immediately stepped in front of him.

"She's my wife. This is our family business. If you want to pull records, the least you could do is talk to me first."

The mother-in-law let out a cold laugh. "Director, don't let this madwoman fool you."

"She can barely remember her own last name. What important person could she possibly be?"

The director paid them no attention.

As he sorted through the chart, an old form a nurse had tucked inside slipped out.

It was my admission form.

In the name field was my original name: Vera Henson.

The director stared at those two words, as if he'd finally fit a piece back into some long-buried memory.

He looked up, confirming.

"You're Virginia Henson's daughter?"

"Yes."

He repeated my name under his breath, and the color drained slowly from his face.

Then his gaze dropped to the ring finger of my right hand.

There was a very old black ring on it.

Before she died, my mother had slipped it onto my hand with her own hands.

Neil had always thought it was bad luck and told me to throw it away more than once. I never agreed.

But the director seemed to recognize something. He grabbed my hand.

"Who gave you this ring?"

"My mother."

"What's your mother's name?"

I looked at him.

"Virginia Henson."

The director's hand went rigid.

The next second he spun around. "Get to the archive room! Bring me the red archive box the board sealed seven years ago!"

Neil frowned.

"What archive box?"

The director didn't answer, but the secretary hurried out of the room.

Before long she came running back, clutching a dust-covered red box.

A seal was wrapped around it, and stamped on the seal was the image of a black ring, identical to the one on my hand.

The smile finally vanished from Neil's face.

"And what is that supposed to prove?"

The director still didn't answer.

He broke the seal and lifted a yellowed document out of the box.

The first page was a photo of my mother.

The second page was a board appointment letter.

The director read the first line, and his breath stopped.

He looked up at me, then down at the photo on the letter.

He did it three times.

Neil finally lost his patience and lunged to snatch it.

"Let me see!"

The director whipped the document behind his back.

"You can't see this."

"Why can't I?"

"This document concerns the hospital's internal succession arrangements. No family member has any right to view it without authorization."

The blood drained from Neil's face.

Seeing this, the mother-in-law rushed forward. "What nonsense are you talking? My son only brought her here for treatment. Why are you treating us like this?"

The director ignored her and turned toward the doorway.

"Notify every board member and every senior officer of the hospital."

"Have them come here at once."

Neil snapped, "On what authority are you calling the board? She's just a patient who was admitted today. What does she have to do with any of you?"

Footsteps clattered down the corridor.

The hospital's senior staff arrived one after another until they filled the space outside my door.

None of them knew what was happening.

But the director carried that appointment letter straight to my bed.

His fingers were trembling faintly.

Then, in front of Neil, the mother-in-law, and every senior officer of the hospital, he slowly bent at the waist.

Neil stared at him.

"What exactly do you mean by this? Isn't she just an ordinary patient?"

The director raised his head, his lips trembling once.

"Chair"