I found 30 red spots on my husband’s back that looked like insect eggs.

The nurse froze mid-step.
I did too.

“What?” I gasped. “Why are you calling the police? What’s happening to my husband?”

Dr. Reynolds didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he gestured for two other staff members. They rushed in, covering David’s back with sterile sheets as though it were something dangerous — contagious, even.

My knees nearly gave out. “Please, someone tell me what’s going on!”

The doctor turned to me, his tone firm but controlled. “Mrs. Miller, please stay calm. Your husband’s condition isn’t caused by an infection or a rash. We believe someone did this to him.”

I blinked, confused. “What… what do you mean, did this to him?”

His jaw tightened. “Those marks aren’t random. They’re chemical burns. We suspect he was exposed to a corrosive substance — possibly something applied directly to his skin or absorbed through his clothes. You did the right thing bringing him here.”

My mind spun. “You’re saying someone hurt him? On purpose?”

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