Psych

Frederick drove through the rain-soaked streets, the windshield wipers slashing back and forth in a rhythmic dance. Beside him, Margaret sat hunched in the passenger seat, her eyes wide and frantic. She muttered to herself, the words a jumbled mix of apologies and accusations. The sound of her despair filled the car, an unsettling backdrop to their journey.

As they approached the imposing structure of the psychiatric hospital, Frederick cast a sidelong glance at his wife. "We're almost there, Margaret. The doctors here will help you."

Margaret's head snapped towards him, her eyes filled with a desperate plea. "No, Frederick, please! I'm not mad. She's real, I swear! Don't do this to me."

Frederick reached over and patted her hand, his touch gentle, betraying none of the satisfaction he felt. "It's for your own good, Margaret. You need help."