Mr Celebrity’s Hidden Wife

DIANA.

The sound of insects and the gentle breeze was all I could hear as I made my way home from my third part-time job. I was utterly exhausted but pushed through when I glanced at my pay for the day. Thoughts about the things I would need before my next paycheck filled my mind. I walked slowly due to my fatigue, and knowing no one would be at home to ask why I was late or early added to my solitude. I took a quiet route to my house, reflecting on my life over the past few years.

It had been a broken one since the death of my seventh and last foster parents. I could vividly remember the day they died. I was the one who suggested we go to the beach, urging them to leave the house despite their promise to take me the next day. I was in the car with them, and I still wonder why they saved me. I miss them so much and hope they can forgive me for causing their deaths. They saved me, letting me live instead of dying with them, and waking up every morning with that guilt isn’t easy. I often ask myself why I am still alive, why I didn’t die alongside them, and what purpose I serve in this world.

I was truly happy with the Jacksons; they were the best foster parents I had since leaving the orphanage. From the age of four, I had been shuffled from one foster home to another. If one of my foster parents didn’t like me, the orphanage would find another family to adopt me. I remember being rebellious in my childhood, which I think was why my six previous foster parents gave up on me, but the Jacksons loved me as their own child.

I snapped out of my thoughts when I heard a soft whimper, almost like a low cry. I shook my head, dismissing it as perhaps a prank by some boys nearby. I wasn’t ready to lose my hard-earned money, so I continued walking but stopped when I noticed blood trails on the ground. I looked closely to ensure I wasn’t imagining it, then pulled out my almost broken phone and followed the trail. It led me to an elderly woman lying on the ground, her clothes torn and covered in blood. I rushed to her side, checking for a pulse and breathing a sigh of relief when I found a faint one.

“Hello, ma’am,” I called softly, gently touching her. She let out a groan.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” I asked, knowing it was a silly question given her obvious pain. What was I going to do? Should I call the police or take her to the hospital? But what if the police found out and I got arrested? No, I couldn’t go to jail; I had dreams to achieve and was so close to realizing them.

A low groan pulled me out of my frantic thoughts. How on earth would I carry her to the roadside?

“I’ll be back shortly, ma’am. Just hold on.” I rushed to the roadside, and luck seemed to be on my side when a cab passed by. I waved it down, but the driver initially refused to go into the quiet area. After much persuasion, he finally agreed. He helped me place her in the car, though he questioned me extensively, so I had to lie and say she was my grandmother and that we were attacked while coming from our shop.

When we arrived at the hospital, the nurses at the entrance saw me covered in blood and rushed toward us. I pointed to the cab, where the elderly woman was. They brought a stretcher and quickly took her inside.

I was asked to fill out some forms, but since I didn’t know her name, I just put down anything that came to mind. After settling with the cab driver, I took a seat in the hallway of the emergency room, praying for her safety.

FEW HOURS LATER.

The emergency room light turned green, and I stood immediately when the doctor came out.

“How is she?” I asked, watching him remove his gloves and mask.

“The patient is really strong. She was barely alive when you brought her here, but she fought through. Can you please tell me what happened to her?”

“I don’t know. I was just passing by when I saw her lying in her pool of blood.”

“I guess we need to inform the police,” the doctor said, and my eyes widened.

“The police? Why?”

"Because this may be a case of kidnapping or assault," the doctor said.

"Okay, can I see her now?" I asked.

"Sure, she's in room 204, but please be quiet in there," he replied.

"Thank you, doctor." I walked down the hallway searching for room 204, and after a few minutes, I found it. I gently opened the door and paused when I saw her lying on the bed with an oxygen mask attached to her face. The only sound in the room was the beeping of the Holter monitor. I took a chair and sat beside her, holding her pale hand, feeling lost and unsure of what to do. I didn't know who her family was or who to call.

Just then, the door opened, and a nurse walked in.

"Ma'am, the doctor asked that you settle the bills," she said, her red hair bouncing over her shoulder as she handed me the bill. What I saw made me gasp—200,000 (two hundred thousand).

"What? 200,000? I...I only have 12,000 (twelve thousand) with me," I said, running my fingers through my hair, while she stared at me as if I were joking.

"You better pay up; if not, we're going to stop your grandma's treatment," she replied before walking out. I sat down, exhaling loudly. Where was I going to come up with that kind of money? Even if I worked six times a day, I still wouldn't make enough. She needs this treatment—think, Diana, think! Who can I meet for some quick cash? Yes, Miguel!