"Ma'am. You can't sleep here."
A cleaner stood above a petite woman; whose clothes were ruined, hair a full tangled nest, and she was smelling of expensive red wine. This had to be the "madwoman" the staff was whispering about.
She nudged the woman's shoulder with the damp end of her mop stick. "Are you dead?"
"Stop!" A nurse hissed, rushing over to grab the cleaner's arm. "What are you doing? That's Dr. Brianna Colburn."
The cleaner stared down in disbelief. "The psychologist on that show? Then why is she on the floor like a vagrant?"
"Her husband," the nurse whispered, casting a pitiful look at the crumpled figure.
"The doctors just gave her the news. She's... not herself. Just let her be."
They kept whispering, their pity thick enough to choke on. But Brianna wasn't sleeping. She was just trying to find a place where the world would stop spinning.
But she couldn't because the rambling became a dull roar in her ears. With a low, guttural groan, Brianna pushed herself up.
The waiting room went deathly silent. It was as if a ghost had just crawled out of a fresh grave. She sat there on the floor, her stained designer dress torn at the hem, staring at them with eyes that were far too bright and far too hollow.
"If you're going to gossip, do it in the morgue. Some of us are trying to sleep."
Staring into her dead eyes, the nurse rushed back to her station. The cleaner scrambled away, her mop bucket rattling loudly in the waiting area. The other patients looked away instantly, terrified to catch whatever "madness" had consumed the city's most beautiful woman!
Brianna laid back on the floor, but then the phone in her pocket vibrated against her hip. A persistent, rhythmic ringing that felt like a drill against her bone.
She refused to move. She stayed curled on the linoleum, watching a trail of ants move toward a spilled soda under the seats.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
She groaned and finally pulled it out. The screen was a graveyard of missed calls.
Senior Mrs. Colburn (3 Missed Calls)
Victoria Colburn (14 Missed Calls)
Thomas (8 Missed Calls)
Rochelle Bradley (29 Missed Calls)
She clenched her fists around the phone, staring at the missed calls. If only she'd stayed home today. If only she hadn't gone on her show... None of this would have happened.
[Ten Hours Earlier]
"We're live in three… two… one…"
The studio lights flared to life, bathing the stage in white and gold as the cameras blinked awake.
(Epic theme song swells)
Dr. Brianna Colburn lifted her chin and smiled just in time as the camera came on her beautiful face.
"Good evening, everyone," the stunning lady greeted warmly, her voice leaving the audience in awe as she walked toward the center of the stage. "And welcome back to The Marriage Tribunal."
The applause and cheers from the audience thundered in the studio.
"Tonight's verdict," Brianna continued, allowing just enough pause to let anticipation settle, "is one many of you have been waiting for."
Behind her, the massive screen lit up, bold letters flashed across it as the audience read aloud in unison—
"STAY… OR WALK OUT THAT DOOR?"
The reaction was immediate. Whistles. Claps. Voices chanting her name.
They loved her. Trusted her. Some even called her the Marriage Goddess—the woman who helped wives see their worth, who named abuse for what it was, who reminded them they were not obligated to endure betrayal for the sake of appearances.
Brianna waited for the noise to soften before lifting one elegant hand.
The room fell silent at once.
"Tonight's case is not unfamiliar. In fact, I receive letters like this every single week."
The lights dimmed slightly, revealing two silhouettes appearing on the screen behind her—one male, one female—divided by a thin white line.
"For their safety and privacy, our guests will remain anonymous. You won't see their faces. You won't know their names."
She glanced briefly toward the audience. "What matters tonight is the truth."
Immediately, murmur sat in the midst of the crowd.
"These two have been married for twenty years. They share a home. A history. And according to our female guest—years of emotional neglect."
The camera focused on the woman's silhouette. Her shoulders were drawn inward while she lowered her head.
Brianna turned toward her, lowering her voice. "Take your time. Tell us what your marriage feels like."
There was a pause. Long enough to make the studio feel unbearably quiet.
Then the woman inhaled shakily. "He reminds me every day that I'm replaceable. That I should be grateful he chose me. He never apologise for hurting me. If I cry, he says I'm weak. If I argue, I'm disrespectful."
She paused and inhaled. "And when I'm disrespectful, he teaches me the consequences... With his belt."
The audience reacted instantly—they gasped, some couldn't believe, others shook heads.
She went on. "I stopped talking about my dreams. He said they were unrealistic. I stopped seeing my friends. He said married women don't need distractions."
Brianna's expression remained composed, but her throat tightened as she swallowed. "And how does that make you feel?"
The woman whispered. "…Tired. I just want to leave. But the kids…"
Those words broke the audience silently.
Brianna nodded once before turning toward the second silhouette. "Sir, you've heard your wife's experience. What is your perspective?"
The man scoffed. "She exaggerates. I provide. I protect. I expect respect. That's marriage."
Boos erupted instantly.
Brianna raised her hand again, restoring order. "Go on."
"She's too emotional. Always has been. A woman like that needs discipline and guidance. If I didn't push her, she'd be nothing. I will not apologize for loving her."
The audience seemed to disagree.
"That's abuse!"
"She should be grateful I even allowed her breathe in my own house!" He shot back.
"No! She deserves better! What kind of man are you?"
"It's a crime to be abusive, you sick fuck!"
Brianna waited, letting them feel it, before turning toward the judges' panel. "Our guest judges will now share their verdicts," she said. "Mike?"
Mike leaned into his microphone. "I'm just going to say one thing. I see it, you see it, the audience sees it... It's obvious, this man doesn't deserve you and you should leave—"
"For heaven's sake, she has children. Telling her to leave is irresponsible." The backlash was immediate and deafening, making the judge remove glasses.
"Um…" Mike blinked, didn't expecting to be thrown off. He glanced briefly at Brianna, then back at the judge.
The judge raised his hand as though he were the one being wronged. "Hear me out,"
But the audience refused to listen to him.
"I—okay, let's… let's hear him out first." Mike voice immediately made the room slowly quiet.
"Thank you," he said to Mike then turned to the audience.
"I'm not saying he's perfect. But marriage isn't about perfection. She should have thought about these things before saying, 'I do'."
"So you're saying it's her fault?"
"I'm saying, she chose him. She knew who he was and chose him, even when she saw the 'red flags', as this generation say."
He twirled his pen once, then pointed it toward the woman's silhouette. "You don't get to bring children into the world and then decide your unhappiness matters more than their stability. That's not bravery. That's selfishness."
Brianna smiled a knowing smile. People didn't argue morality when they were comfortable. They defended the past that made them.
His tone was cold. "So you either live with the consequences of your actions, or accept that you're a bad mother."
The woman broke down into heaving sobs. She had agonized over this for twenty long years; every day of her marriage was a calculation of her children's safety versus their stability.
"Parents aren't infallible. And making a mistake doesn't mean living inside it forever." Brianna Colburn turned back toward the silhouettes. "I'll take it from here."
Her gaze settled on the husband's screen. No one knew she was battling a rising tide of disgust, her fingers tightened around her microphone until her knuckles turned white.
"What you described is not love. It is control. Love does not mold someone into the version you want."
"Marriage should expand you. Not control you." She added, turning to the woman.
Facing the camera now, "A word of advice for the audience. A man who scars your body does not deserve a place in your heart. And a man who humiliates you in private will destroy you in public."
Attention was drawn from Brianna when a loud, mocking scoff echoed from the judges' table.
The judge clapped slowly. "The 'Marriage Goddess' has spoken. Choose yourself over your children. Typical." He leaned forward, eyeing Brianna.
"Funny how you never think about the innocent children. But you know what they say—only a real mother has sympathy for her offspring. Being a woman doesn't make you a mother. We can all agree this show deserves a host who actually knows what it means to carry a life!"