I tucked the bottle securely into the pocket of my hospital gown.

Next, I needed the records.

I walked over to the rolling tray beside the window.

A thick medical chart bound in a blue plastic cover sat next to a half-empty pitcher of water.

I opened the folder.

The first page was an admission summary, detailing my symptoms upon arrival.

*Patient exhibited extreme paranoia, disorientation, and self-induced chemical toxicity,* the report read.

At the bottom of the page was the bold, sweeping signature of Dr. Noah Sterling.

I pulled my personal phone from the deep pocket of my coat, which was hanging in the narrow closet by the door.

My hands shook as I opened the camera app.

I took clear, high-resolution photographs of every single page in the folder.

I captured the fabricated toxicology screen, the forged consent forms, and the admission notes.

According to these documents, I had signed away my rights to contest any medical decisions made by Jared.

It was a complete, legal trap.

I finished taking the photos and slipped my phone back into my coat pocket.