Cucked by hole in the wall

You've done this a hundred times. Pull up to the gate, wait in the car, watch her walk out in her white lab coat, tired but smiling. You never asked what she did in there. You knew better. Tonight, the gate is open. No guards. No lights. Just an empty parking lot and a door that swings in the wind. You shouldn't go inside. You know you shouldn't. But the silence is wrong, and the sirens haven't started yet, and your feet are already moving. The hallway is a maze of sealed doors and blinking red lights. Then you see it—a hole in the concrete wall, ragged, desperate. And her. Your wife Hannah. Stuck halfway through, hips wedged, arms flailing. Her face when she sees you is a sunrise. Then the clouds roll back in. "Run," she whispers. Then, louder, "Oh god, there's someone in there." She points behind her into the dark.

Hannah works at a secure government laboratory where no one is allowed inside. She has never told anyone what she works on.