The Hate Was Love

"Who is it?" Hazel's voice quivered, her heart pounding against her chest, each second of silence intensifying her anxiety. It had been about 15 agonizing seconds without any sound on the other end of the call.

"Your husband is dead."

Her grip on the phone tightened, and her whole body began to tremble uncontrollably. It felt as though the world had suddenly gone cold and dark, shattering the fairy tale she had thought was finally coming true. Tears welled up in Hazel's eyes as she struggled to process the devastating news. With a heavy heart, she finally managed to utter, "Wh— who are you... who is this?" Her voice trembled as she fought to hold herself together, but it seemed an impossible task.

A lump rose in her throat, choking her as the line abruptly went dead. She collapsed to the floor with a resounding thud, panic gripping her heart and throat, making it nearly impossible to breathe.

Her consciousness was there, but fleeting, as she battled a relentless panic attack. Amidst the chaos in her mind, there was a deep, hurtful sigh from the other side of the call. After a few seconds, the call ended abruptly.

The next thing Hazel knew, she found herself surrounded by sterile white walls, the constant beeping of machines assaulting her ears. Her vision was blurred, and her chest felt as if it were weighed down by an elephant. She was in a hospital, connected to various monitors and IVs. Panic had transformed into confusion, and she struggled to make sense of her surroundings.

As her eyes gradually adjusted to the harsh, fluorescent lights, a tall, imposing figure emerged from the shadows. He possessed a strong jawline, dark hair, and piercing blue eyes—a striking resemblance to her husband, Michael. Hazel's heart swelled with relief, and a hopeful smile crossed her dry lips.

"Michael?" Hazel whispered weakly, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

However, the man's face hardened when he heard the wrong name. He leaned closer, anger lacing his words. "I'm not Michael," he hissed, his voice oddly familiar to Hazel. Her mind struggled to connect the dots between the man in front of her and the voice from the call. Fear crept into her heart, and she stammered, "Mic—," struggling to utter the right words. She was so confused and thought maybe her mind is playing games with her because the man in front of her was her husband.

The man sighed, his frustration palpable. He hadn't expected Hazel to wake up so soon or in such a disoriented state. "Michael can't be here right now," he cryptically replied, his eyes scanning the room for any signs of unwanted attention. Despite the confusion, Hazel didn't sense any immediate threat from him but nonetheless, the memory of the earlier phone call rushed back, and her heart raced. She didn't understand what was happening or why this stranger was in her hospital room. "Who are you?" she stammered, her voice quaking.

He hesitated, torn between revealing his true identity and keeping up the facade. Finally, he chose a vague response. "I'm nobody," he whispered softly. It was at that moment she knew the voice is actually from the phone call from earlier.

Hazel, paralyzed by fear and weakened by her condition, used the last of her energy to disconnect the IV from her arm. Wincing in pain, she moved swiftly, her body betraying her with every step, desperate to escape the room.

Hazel's world was a haze of confusion and fear as she staggered toward the door, her body trembling with every step. She couldn't stand for long, her strength rapidly depleting. Desperation drove her forward, and she reached out to steady herself, clutching onto a nearby table. It held an array of surgical instruments, and as her trembling fingers brushed against them, a loud crash echoed through the room. Instruments clattered to the floor, making a jarring noise that seemed to pierce the sterile air.

The man had been watching Hazel with concern, rushed to her side. He reached out and gently pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her trembling form. “Hush now," he whispered, his voice filled with reassurance as he held her tightly. His voice unfurled like a shroud of mystery, a serenade of secrets whispered from the depth of his being. Who is this man?

Just as Hazel tried to comprehend what was happening, the hospital room's door burst open, and a doctor hurried inside. Dr. Anderson, a middle-aged man with a concerned expression, surveyed the scene with a mix of surprise and worry. "Mr. and Mrs. Black, is everything okay?" he asked, his tone laced with concern.

Hazel, still in shock, struggled to find her voice. Darkness crept at the edges of her vision as her energy waned, and she swayed on her feet. "Michael" she managed to mumble, her voice weak and trembling. Why did the doctor call the man Mr Black?

The man tightened his embrace, casting a wary glance at Dr. Anderson. "She's had a rough time," he explained, his voice calm but tense. "She received some distressing news, and it's left her in quite a state.”

Dr. Anderson nodded, his concern deepening. He moved closer to Hazel, checking her vital signs. "We'll need to run some tests to make sure she's okay," he said gently. "But for now, let's get her back into bed."

“No need doctor. Actually, we were planning on going home.” The man said picking Hazel in bridal style.

“Mr. Black, I'm afraid your wife is not in a suitable condition to go home just yet. We need to run a few tests to ensure her health." Dr Anderson said getting his stethoscope ready.

The man leaned in, voice cold and filled with authority, "Doc, you see, in my line of work, I don't take 'no' for an answer. My wife's going home with me tonight, one way or another."

Dr Anderson paused, as he was taken aback by Mr. Black's assertiveness, “Mr. Black, I understand your concern, but as a doctor I strongly recommend that we proceed with the tests. It's crucial for your wife's well-being."

The man fixed a piercing gaze on the doctor, "Doc, you don't understand. When I say she's going home, she's going home. Now, if you could kindly prepare the discharge forms and the bill, we'll be on our way."

The doctor reluctantly nodded, realizing the futility of arguing further, "Very well, Mr. Black. I'll get the paperwork ready for you.” His voice was shaky as he strolled out leaving the man he respectfully addresses as Mr Black with Hazel in his arms,

Just as the doctor left the room, Chris, a tall and imposing figure with a stern expression, entered. He surveyed the scene, taking in the sight of the messy room. His voice held a mix of amusement and exasperation as he spoke.

“Jonathan, did you really have to scare off the doctor like that?" Chris said folding his arms, leaning to the door.

Jonathan glanced up at Chris, his eyes briefly betraying a hint of guilt before returning to their usual stoic demeanor. "She needs to be home, Chris," he replied firmly, his voice unwavering. "I couldn't wait any longer, the same person that killed her husband, my brother is on the loose.”

Chris sighed, understanding the depth of Jonathan's concern for Hazel. "Alright, we'll make it happen," he conceded, as he approached Hazel's bedside. "But first, we need to ensure she's stable. Let's see what the doctor had to say."

“Just deal with the discharge forms, I don’t have time for this.”

As he carried her toward the exit, he got locked in her heavy eyes and his heart somehow skipped a beat that his entire body froze. Her face was so radiant and serene.

“Are you okay, man?” Chris asked and Jonathan swallowed hard and gave him a slid nod and continued walking.