The Hospital Conspiracy
My name is Natalia. I’m thirty-two years old, and three days ago, I held my husband’s hand in a hospital room while doctors told me he had less than forty-eight hours to live. I’d been at his bedside for two weeks, watching him fade away, believing these were our final moments together.
I said goodbye to the man I’d loved for eight years. I walked out of that room believing I’d never see him alive again. Then I heard two nurses talking in the hallway, and everything I thought I knew shattered in an instant.
I’m Natalia, and I need you to understand what my life looked like before everything fell apart. I’m thirty-two years old, working as a marketing specialist at a mid-sized company in Austin, Texas. My husband, Graham Walker, was thirty-five, working in real estate.
We’d been married for eight years, together for ten. We met when I was twenty-four at a networking event downtown. He was charming, confident, knew exactly how to make me feel like I was the only person in the room.
The first six years were good. We traveled when we could afford it. We bought a two-story house in Hyde Park with a mortgage we were still paying off—two hundred thousand dollars left on it.
We talked about having kids someday. We talked about growing old together. But the last two years, things changed.
Graham became distant. He worked longer hours. He stopped sharing things with me.
When I asked if everything was okay, he’d say he was stressed about work. Real estate can be unpredictable, I told myself. I believed him because I loved him—because I thought that’s what marriage meant.
Trusting your partner even when things got hard. Two weeks ago, on September eighteenth, everything changed. Graham called me from his office in the middle of the afternoon.
His voice sounded weak, strained. He said he didn’t feel well and asked if I could come get him. I dropped everything and drove to his office building.
When I got there, he was sitting in his car in the parking lot. His face was pale gray. Sweat covered his forehead even though the air conditioning was running.
His hands were shaking. I didn’t waste time asking questions. I drove him straight to Dell Seton Medical Center.
The emergency room doctor, a man named Dr. Raymond Foster, ran tests immediately. An hour later, Dr.
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