Here is your update! Took longer than I thought and I apologize. But I am pleased with how it turned out. Hope you enjoy!

"Casey," the hospital psychologist, Dr. Taylor, prods me once again. "Casey, you have to talk to me. I'm only trying to help you."

I'm lying on the hospital bed with my back turned to her, playing with the hospital bracelet on my wrist and letting a tear slide down my cheek. If she really wanted to help me, she'd let me be. She wouldn't be in here. She wouldn't be trying to force me into talking about something I don't want to talk about.

It's been three days since I woke up. Three days since I screamed at my wife and had to be sedated. The worst three days of my life.

I haven't seen Alex since that first day. I told the nurses and Dr. Taylor that I didn't want Alex to be able to come into my room. It's too painful and difficult for us both. And since I'm the patient and on suicide watch under psych evaluation, they have to respect my wishes.

Even though I don't want to see Alex, it hasn't made her leave the hospital. Dr. Taylor told me she hasn't left once since I arrived and she asks about me every twenty minutes. That only makes me feel worse; Alex is so loyal and loving and look what I'm doing to her. I'm tearing her heart out and stomping on it.

My father and Alex's parents have been at the hospital as well, but I have refused to let them see me either. I can't find anyone in this guilt-ridden emotional state. They can't see me like this.

And for three days Dr. Taylor has come into my room three times a day, using that voice reserved for children and those who are fragile. Telling me she understands. I don't even look at her. I can hear her pen scratching across paper as she writes on my chart. Probably saying that I'm uncooperative and broken. Which is true.

But how can I put it into words?

"I can understand your reluctance to talk to me, Casey; really, I can," Dr. Taylor continues. "But I really am here to help. You have so many people who care about you. I've met your wife; she's always here, Casey. She loves you very much. She wants to help you. You have family and friends who want to see you and want you to get better."

There is no 'getting better' from this. Jenna has taken my self-respect and broken it. She's torn my soul out and left me an empty shell. I'm dirty and ashamed of myself for the lack of strength I showed. I used to be happy and comfortable in a perfect life with my Alex. Jenna took all that from me. I don't smile or laugh anymore. I only wallow in sadness and cry. And she gets to walk free, enjoying life. Everyone thinks I'm a liar and that Jenna is a saint. My wife wants to give up her career and move away from her family and friends and the only life she's ever known, because of me. How do I 'get better' from this?

Dr. Taylor starts talking again, and for some reason I blurt out, "I don't want to be here." My voice used to be filled with confidence and purpose. Now it's as hollow and broken as I am.

"You don't have to stay in this hospital, Casey. I'm going to get you help. I need to complete your evaluation and I will place you with a psychiatrist you can talk to two or three times a week, someone who can put you on the proper medication to make you feel better. If you cooperate and commit yourself to getting better, you can go home with your wife when the time is right. You don't have to stay here. But until you talk to me and until I find you are no longer a danger to yourself, you have to stay here."

I squeeze my eyes closed, another tear escaping. She misunderstood me. "No, I said I don't want to be here," I repeat softly.

It takes her a moment to gather what I am saying. When she's fully processed it, she says, "You don't want to be alive." It's not really a question – more of a statement, a realization. One she should have arrived at before now. I hear more writing, and then the evitable, "Can you tell me why you feel that way?"

I don't want to talk to her. Everything inside of me is screaming at me to keep my back turned to her and to stay silent. But the other part of me – the logical part – knows she isn't going to give up until I give her what she wants.

I slowly roll over and face her. The movement causes extreme pain to my broken ribs and I involuntarily wince. They ache all the time and hurt whenever I move. I've been refusing pain medication; I deserve to feel this pain.

Once I'm sitting up properly and looking at Dr. Taylor, she smiles warmly at me. And I realize I've been her patient for three days but this is the first time she's actually seen any part of me besides my back. I can't bring myself to smile back, so I just nod and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, looking at the drab sheets on the bed.

"You have beautiful hair," she comments. "My daughter is a red head."

I know she's trying to personalize this and make me feel comfortable opening up to her, but I wish she wouldn't comment on how I look. My hair isn't beautiful. No part of me is beautiful. Not anymore.

I briefly meet Dr. Taylor's eyes once again and give her another small nod. I wonder if she can see how broken I am. I wonder if my eyes give it away. If they look as lifeless and empty to her as they do to me every time I look in the mirror.

I only get a second's reprieve before Dr. Taylor asks again, "Why don't you want to be here?"

I look down at the sheets on the bed, unable and unwilling to meet her gaze. "Because I'm worthless," I say softly; so softly that I'm afraid she may not have heard me.

"Why do you think you're worthless?"

I bite my lip, trying to keep my emotions at bay. There is a storm raging inside me, and it's taking everything I have to remain calm. "Because I let someone use me. And I hurt the woman I love."

I'm positive that Dr. Taylor knows about Jenna; either from reading or watching the news or from Alex. But she doesn't mention her. Not directly anyway. Instead she says, "It's common to feel that way when you've suffered a traumatic experience. Everyone deals with tragedy in different ways. Some of us have better coping skills than others."

When is she going to tell me something I don't know?

"You feel the way you feel, Casey, and no one can change that or criticize you for it," she goes on. "But what we can do is teach you how to deal with your grief and guilt in a way that is not harmful to you or anyone else. And that's what I'm going to do for you. I'm going to help you, and I'm the person I'm going to refer to when you leave the hospital is going to help you too."

I'm still staring at the bed sheets. Suddenly they are the most interesting thing I've ever seen. Tears are rolling down my cheeks. Dr. Taylor is so kind and wants to help me, and I don't deserve it. I don't deserve kindness. And nothing she or anyone else can do is going to help me.

"I know you don't like yourself very much right now," Dr. Taylor says, seemingly reading my mind. "I know you don't think you deserve help, and you don't want help. So I'm going to ask you to do something."

I finally raise my teary eyes and look at Dr. Taylor. "What?"

"I'm going to ask you to not do this for yourself. I'm going to ask you to do this for your father, the nice man I've spoken to on several occasions these past couple of days who loves his daughter. For your friends, who have phoned and came in almost a continuous flow. For your mother, who isn't here but loves you very, very much and doesn't want you to feel this way and wants you to live a happy life. For your in-laws, who are here right now and love you just like you're their own daughter."

My cheeks are hot and wet with tears and I don't make any attempts to stop them. All those people who love me…how could I have let them down?

And then Dr. Taylor invokes the ultimate weapon. "But mostly, Casey, I want you to do this for your wife, Alex. I know you love her more than anyone else on this earth. And she loves you just as much. She wants you to get better. She wants to be sitting by your side right now holding your hand. But she loves you so much that she's willing to respect your wishes and keep her distance right now, which is extremely hard for her. Do this for her. Accept help for her. If Alex were in your place, would you want her to give up?"

I shake my head wildly, trying to stop my tears. She hit me right where it mattered. Alex is my weakness. I love her so much that I can't put it into words.

"No; I wouldn't want her to give up. And I love her. I love her so much. But I've hurt her. I've disappointed her. I let this – " I swallow harshly, trying to find the right word. "This thing happen to me. I'm usually so tough and strong. I shouldn't have let this happen! I let her kiss me! I let her take me upstairs! I let her – " I have to stop talking, as I'm overcome with tears. Dr. Taylor gently encourages me and hands me a box of tissues. She no doubt knows who 'she' is and the situation I'm referring to.

I sob for several minutes until I've pulled myself together enough to say, "I didn't do enough to stop her. I know she drugged me, but it's still my fault. I must have led her on somehow. And now I'm not good enough for Alex. I'm dirty and wrecked, and Alex shouldn't want me or love me. She deserves someone stronger. Someone who won't hurt her."

"How do you figure you've hurt Alex? Or let her down?"

"Because I let this happen!" I yell again, letting the tears come again. "And now Alex wants to give up her job and our home. She wants to move away from the life she built for herself. That's something Alex would never do. But she wants to do it for me, and she shouldn't have to. She has to worry about me and alter her life for me, and it's not fair to her. She doesn't deserve that. I've barely let her touch, and she had to find me when – " I inhale sharply and cut myself off. I look away from Dr. Taylor again. "That's more than one person should have to bear. Alex deserves so much more. I was so selfish to do this."

"What Alex deserves is someone who loves her, and she has that. She's willing to give all that up because she loves you, Casey. She wants to do what is best for you both. She may have built a life for herself, but you have a life together now. Every action both of you takes affects the other. If you don't want Alex to give up her job and if you don't want to move, then you two need to talk and work that out. Listen to each other. But you can't accomplish that until you've committed yourself to getting better. And suicide is not a selfish act, Casey; it may seem that way, but it isn't. Those in your state of mind are thinking only of the people they love when they make that decision. Thinking it's going to be easier for them now, when in fact, the opposite is true. You are not a selfish person, Casey. And you aren't worthless. You're a very valuable person who is loved greatly."

I hear Dr. Taylor's words and I see the logic in them, but I can't shake this feeling that I don't deserve Alex and the she deserves someone better than me. How can I get that across to her?

I start to pick at a loose thread on the sheets, and suddenly my beautiful wedding ring catches my eye. The symbol of me and Alex's love. And my mind flashes back to our wedding day. How beautiful Alex looked in her dress, and how deliriously happy I had been that I was marrying the woman I loved. It was the best day of my life.

I let some more tears fall as I say, "I love Alex."

"I know you do," Dr. Taylor says, handing me the box of tissues once again. I take one out and dab my eyes as she continues. "Things can get better, Alex. Let's talk a little longer and we can go from there, all right? I can even have Alex come in and talk to you if you'd like."

I swallow around the lump in my throat and shake my head. As much as I love Alex, I can't face her right now. "I – I don't want to her see her right now. I – I'm not ready."

Dr. Taylor nods. "That's ok, Casey; we'll take this one step at a time, ok?"

I nod in agreement, but I'm not sure if I'm strong enough for all this.

Alex's POV

"Honey, you have to start eating more," my mother says from her chair across from me.

I pick around at my salad and shake my head. We're sitting in the hospital cafeteria, at my mother's insistence. She threatened to force feed me in front of the entire hospital staff if I didn't comply. And knowing my mother, she would have followed through with her threat. So here I am, eating a salad I don't want and drinking overly sweetened Sprite from the soda fountain.

This is the last place I want to be. I want to be with Casey. It's been almost four days since I've seen her. I've lived at this hospital; I haven't set foot out the doors since Casey was brought here. My mother has been bringing me clothes from home. I've taken a leave from my job. Temporary, until I figure out what I want to do, where Casey and I are going from here. Until I get this Jenna thing taken care of.

I don't think I've ever been so worried in my life. I've cried more in the past three days than I ever thought possible. When you're told that the person you love more than your life doesn't want to see you, it's devastating. Of course I understand and I'm willing to give Casey as much space as she needs, but it's taken a toll on me. I don't eat or sleep, I worry constantly, and I just plain miss Casey. It breaks my heart into a thousand pieces to know that she felt so hopeless that she thought this was the only way out. And I didn't see how bad it had gotten.

Casey's father is a wreck as well. He's out with my father right now – mother asked him to take him out and get his mind off things. I'm not sure what they are doing; if I were him, I'd be getting drunk.

As bad as things are, I did get some good news today. Stephanie Taylor, the hospital psychiatrist, talked to me at length. She said that Casey finally opened up to her and she felt she made some good progress, considering the situation. She couldn't disclose what was said; only that Casey did talk and still wishes not to see me at this time. I feel a little encouraged by this. Casey hasn't spoken a word to anyone in three days. Opening up is a big deal. Dr. Taylor is confident that she can get Casey out of the hospital within the week, considering she continues to open up and agrees to the treatment plan. At this time she's still refusing pain meds for her ribs. I asked Dr. Taylor to try and talk her into getting them; I hate to think of Casey being in pain unnecessarily.

The thought of possibly taking Casey home by this weekend both makes me happy and terrifies me at the same time. I know they won't release Casey until they are certain she is out of her suicidal state of mind, but I still have to tread very lightly. I still have to watch her. I'm fully aware that she is most likely still going to need space. I'm going to let her know I'm there for her when she needs me, but I'm not going to crowd her. We won't talk about my job or the prospect of moving until she starts seeing her regular therapist and until she's ready. I don't want to make things stressful or difficult for her. My job is to be there and love her – and that I will do.

"I talked to Olivia today," mom chatters on, trying to keep the conversation light. "I'm so glad she found someone to be happy with. And she told me that your dog Blaze was found – why didn't you tell me?"

I shrug, stabbing a piece of lettuce with my plastic fork. "I guess I forgot. The dog isn't a big priority right now, mom. I'm glad he is okay and found, of course, but all I'm worried about is Casey. Liv and Renee are taking care of him until Casey gets home. I'm sure she's going to be glad to see him. Animals are therapeutic. Maybe it will help. They have the ferret too."

Mom smiles at that. "Casey and her animals. She loves them, doesn't she?"

I smile, for the first time in days. "She does. It's so adorable to watch her playing with that damn ferret. And Blaze is always stuck to her like Velcro." I laugh as I think about my gorgeous wife and her pets, and an instant later, I'm sad and tears fill my eyes. I miss my happy, peppy Casey. I want her back.

I put my fork down and I start to cry, covering my face with my hands. I'm so angry at myself; I managed to go the whole day without crying, even after Dr. Taylor talked to me. I held myself together so well. And now here I am, crying my eyes out in the cafeteria, with several pairs of eyes on me.

"Oh, honey," mom says, getting out of her chair and coming around to my side of the table. She crouches down to my height and puts her arm around my trembling shoulders, rubbing my back gently and talking soothingly to me.

I completely give it to her. I turn to her and wrap my arms around my mother, hugging her tightly and sobbing as hard as I can. I'm nearly forty years old but yet I desperately need my mother right now. And I'm not ashamed to admit or show it.

Mom holds me as I cry myself out. I don't know how much time goes by, but I do know that when I finally pull away from her and manage a small smile, I feel somewhat better. I needed to release my emotions almost as much as I needed my mom.

She gives my hand a squeeze and then goes back and sits down once she has satisfied herself that I'm not to break down again. She locks her eyes on me and says seriously, "Alex, I honestly believe everything is going to be all right. You and Casey love each other. A love that strong can conquer anything. Casey needs time to get through this. But she also needs you."

I nod in agreement. "It's just so hard," I tell her. "She hasn't been my Casey in so long. Casey was always happy. She made anything fun. She was so sweet; she'd write me a handwritten love letter every week." My eyes fill with tears as I think about my most prized possession; the book of letters at home. "She complied them all into a book for me and added it to every week. We'd cuddle up together in bed and she'd read her most recent letter to me. It was the highlight of my week. Now she hasn't written in so long. I miss that. I miss holding her in my arms at night. Showering with her. Her making breakfast for me. Her laugh, and her smile and the way her green eyes lit up every time she'd see me."

I realize I'm lamenting as if Casey is gone instead of still here. But in a way, I guess she is.

"She lost her light, mom. Jenna took that from her. That lying, conniving bitch gets to walk around with a smile while my wife has to deal with the fallout. Jenna is a good liar; everyone believes her. It's been on the news and in the papers; making Casey out to be a liar. It's disgusting, mom. Disgusting and wrong."

I don't know why I felt the need to tell my mother that – she was already aware. She reads the papers and watches the news. I guess I just needed to say it.

"It is wrong. It truly is, and I wish there was something you could to change that. It's awful that there isn't. I don't think Jenna should be allowed to get away with this either. But Alex, you can't hold onto this forever. You and Casey have to move forward. I'm not saying forget about it; because neither of you ever will. But you can't dwell on Jenna not paying for what she did. You know better than anyone that there is nothing you can with lack of evidence. I know you are thinking of a civil suit, but honestly, do you want to put Casey through that? It's a crime that Casey's name has been dragged through the mud. But you know in your heart that she is telling the truth. Casey knows, I know, and everyone else who loves Casey knows. And that means something, even if everyone else can't see it."

My mother is a wise woman, that's for sure. She's absolutely right, but how can I just let it go? Jenna destroyed Casey's life. As a lawyer, I just can't let that go. I'm not finished weighing up our options in regards to her.

I want to tell my mom about hitting that reporter from the Post – Elaine Traynor. I know it was wrong, but also quite justified. I want to tell her about how Elaine called the police and I had to use my status and connections to get out of it. But right now doesn't seem the right time. And I have to tell Casey. I can't keep it from her. When she's feeling better, I have to tell her. Especially because there is a chance that Elaine can decide to file a civil suit against me. But that's the least of my worries right now.

Mom's wisdom session is apparently over. She takes a sip of her coffee and then changes the subject completely. "Did I see that Senator here today? The one Casey used to work for?"

"Yes; Ryan Palmer. He's stopped by every day."

"Don't you think that's a bit inappropriate? He just won his re-election; he doesn't need to showboat at a hospital. It seems he would want to distance himself from this all this anyway. You had mentioned he wanted Casey to come back to work for him; this isn't the way to accomplish that."

I look at my mom in disbelief. "He's concerned about Casey. He does want her to come back to work, but this has nothing to do with that. He was at the fundraiser that night – it was at his house. He believes Casey. And I think he feels a bit responsible."

"It just seems a little inappropriate to me, Alex."

"It's not. He isn't here to be on the news or talk Casey into coming back to work for him – he comes here because he cares about Casey. He tried to help me talk the DC District Attorney into filing charges on Jenna. He saw something in Casey that few did, and gave her a great opportunity. Casey loved that job. She was great at it. He is legitimately Casey's friend, mom. Her other friends are allowed to be here. I don't see a problem at all."

Mom quickly changes the subject again. "Do you think Casey will go back to work?"

I sigh and shove my plate away from me. "I don't know, mom. I can't do this right now. I can't talk about the future. I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know what I'm going to do about my job, what Casey's going to do, whether we're going to stay here or move, whether we'll go after Jenna….I just don't know. I am going to take this one day at a time. My only immediate concern is Casey and getting her home and keeping her well. That's all I care about right now. The rest we'll tackle when we come to it."

My mom picks up the newspaper that's lying on the table and starts to unfold it. As quickly as she unfolded it, she quickly closes it. Her eyes go to mine and she discreetly places the paper in her lap. "You know what? Why don't we go for a walk?"

I have known my mother my whole life; I know when she's hiding something. She saw something in that paper she didn't want me to see.

I hold out my hand. "Mom – give me that paper."

She smiles at me. "It's such a nice day! Let's go get some fresh air – "

I stand up. "Mom!"

She knows I'll get that paper one way or another. Hesitantly, she picks it up off her lap and hands it to me.

I take it from her and sit back down, unfolding it to the first page. And then I immediately see it.

It's an article written by none other than Elaine Traynor; an article about Jenna and how Casey's "accusations" ruined her career.

I get two paragraphs into the article, and I slam the paper down on the tabletop angrily. "Are you kidding me? Jenna gets to accuse Casey of ruining her life?! She wants to sue Senator Palmer's office for wrongful discharge? You have to be kidding me!"

I am so angry that my blood feels like it's about to boil. Jenna is allowed to say those things, and Elaine gets to print this? It's assassinating Casey's character. Its libel, and I don't intend to lie down and take it.

I intend on going down to the Post and putting a stop to this.

So, what did you think? Is Casey going to continue to accept help? Will she want to see Alex soon? And what is Alex going to do about that reporter? Do you think she should just let it go? And what about Jenna - what do you think is going to happen? Please review and let me know what you thought about this chapter!