Chapter 2: Whispers to the Unconscious

I sat beside my mother’s hospital bed, holding her frail hand in mine. The machines beeped softly in the quiet room, steady and unchanging. For the first time since yesterday, I let the tears fall freely. They rolled down my cheeks without shame, dropping onto the white hospital sheets.

“Mama,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

The words poured out of me like a dam had finally broken. I told her everything. How the doctor had given us another negative result. How Marcus had stayed cold and distant the entire way home. And then how he had exploded once we were inside the penthouse. I confessed the worst part — his demand for an open marriage. That he wanted to sleep with other women to have a child while I continued playing the role of the perfect wife in public.

“He said he would cut off your treatment if I don’t agree,” I said, my throat tight. “He threatened to remove your life support, Mama. After everything we’ve been through, how can he say that to me?”

I rested my forehead on the edge of the bed, breathing in the familiar smell of antiseptic and flowers I had brought last week. For nearly two years, my mother had lain here in a coma after her stroke. I had visited her almost every day, talking to her about my life, my fears, and my small joys. She was the only person who had ever truly listened to me without judgment.

As I spoke, memories flooded back. Our marriage had not been built on deep love. At least not the kind I once dreamed of. It had grown from convenience, from my willingness to sacrifice everything for Marcus’s ambitions. I had given up my own career in event planning to support his political rise. I had moved cities, changed my entire lifestyle, and smiled through every exhausting campaign event. In return, he had provided financial security and status. But love? Real, warm, protecting love? That had slowly disappeared over the years.

Now I saw it clearly. Our relationship had always been built on dependency. My dependency on his money. His dependency on my image as the graceful, supportive wife. And now that I could not give him the one thing he needed most — a child — he was ready to throw me aside in private while keeping me on display.

My phone rang, cutting through the heavy silence. I wiped my face quickly and saw Marcus’s name on the screen. I almost didn’t answer, but the fear for my mother made me press the button.

“Hello,” I said quietly.

“Lilah, where are you?” His voice sounded completely normal, as if yesterday’s fight had never happened. “You need to come home soon. We have the birthday fundraiser tonight for Senator Rossi. It’s important. Make sure you look presentable.”

I stared at the wall, stunned by how easily he could switch. No apology. No mention of the pain he had caused me. Just business as usual.

“I’m at the hospital,” I replied.

“Good. Don’t stay too long. We need to stop by the boutique first. I’ve already made an appointment for you to choose a dress.”

He spoke as if everything was fine. As if my world had not been shattered the night before. The casual tone disturbed me deeply. It showed how little my feelings mattered to him now.

“I’ll be home soon,” I said and ended the call.

I leaned down and kissed my mother’s forehead. “I wish you could tell me what to do,” I whispered. “I feel so lost.”

When I returned to the penthouse, Marcus was already waiting. The car ride to the luxury boutique was tense and silent at first. The streets of Milan passed by in a blur of elegant buildings and busy traffic. I could not hold my bitterness inside anymore.

“So,” I said, my voice sharp, “have you already started making your list of women? The ones who will give you the child I apparently cannot?”

Marcus sighed as if I was being difficult. “This isn’t the time, Lilah.”

“Oh, it’s never the time, is it? You want me to smile and play the perfect wife in public while you sleep with whoever you want. How convenient for you.”

He kept his eyes on the road. “You agreed to support my career when we got married. That includes maintaining our image. The public needs to see us as a strong couple.”

I laughed bitterly. “A strong couple? You threatened to kill my mother if I don’t let you cheat. That is not strength, Marcus. That is cruelty.”

The argument grew hotter as we drove. My pain and anger poured out. “Did you ever really love me? Or was I just useful to you? A pretty face to stand beside you at rallies?”

Marcus did not answer immediately. The silence stretched between us until he finally spoke.

“Love is not enough in this world, Lilah. We have responsibilities. Status. Legacy. I care about our future. That should be enough.”

He did not deny it. He did not say he loved me. That hurt more than anything else he had said so far.

We arrived at the exclusive boutique in the fashion district. The manager greeted us warmly, clearly knowing who Marcus was. She led me to a private dressing room filled with beautiful evening gowns. Marcus sat outside, checking his phone while I tried on dress after dress.

“Choose something elegant but not too flashy,” he instructed from behind the curtain. “We need to look united tonight. Smile, Lilah. Act happy. This is important for my image.”

I stood in front of the large mirror wearing a stunning deep blue gown that flowed perfectly over my figure. The fabric was expensive and soft. The color made my eyes stand out. On the outside, I looked like the ideal wife of a rising politician.

But inside, I felt nothing.

I stared at my reflection. The woman looking back at me had perfect hair and makeup, but her eyes were empty. Numb. I touched the fabric, running my fingers over the expensive material, and wondered how much longer I could keep pretending. How many more nights could I smile beside a man who saw me as a failure? How long could I live in this beautiful lie before it completely destroyed me?

The thought settled heavily in my chest as I kept staring at myself in the mirror. I was no longer sure I had the strength to continue this fake life.