2: Worst Nightmare

Alora

Beep.

The noise from the machine echoed loudly in my eardrums, almost deafening. Slowly, I opened my eyes, adjusting to take in the light that struck them.

The strong scent of disinfectant and injections settled in my nostrils. I looked around briefly, only to be startled.

I was in a hospital.

But how…

“Finally awake,” a voice said, breaking through my thoughts. I turned, only to find Doctor Stanley standing just beside my bed.

A gasp escaped my lips.

I tried to recall what had happened, only for those heart-wrenching memories to flood back.

“Don’t worry about how you ended up here. Let’s just be thankful you made it through this time. You’ll be discharged shortly, along with additional medication,” he said, turning to leave without another word.

I blinked. Then, Lucas's last words echoed in my head. They cut deep, even though he had said them in his drunken state.

I let the tears drop, silently fighting back the growing anger in my heart.

Soon, I was discharged, and I drove out of the hospital. When I got home, it was already past 7 a.m.

I slowly got out of my car and moved to the door, the bag containing the drugs in one arm. My second arm held the handle of the door, about to open it, when the weight of the previous night dawned on me.

The air became undeniably tense. I took a deep breath and walked into the living room. Everything felt eerily quiet, except for the noise coming from upstairs.

I stood still, my eyes taking in the sight before me. Slowly, they landed on the dining table. The plates and meal were just the way I had left them the previous day.

I winced, briefly tapping my chest to contain the hurt as it burned deep in my bones.

The file I had left on the couch was still there, exactly the way I’d left it.

My heart grumbled with pain and all attempts to remain calm proved futile.

Did he even care? Not even a call.

I let out a shaky breath, and turned towards the staircase. I was about to go up when I heard his footsteps approaching.

Fear instantly gripped me, and I stopped in my tracks. I didn't know why but when I lifted my gaze to meet his, I expected the tiniest bit of pity in his eyes.

But no, I was wrong. So drowned in my own world of fantasy to settle with reality.

His dark, cold stare landed on me. My stomach churned. The air grew increasingly tense and unbearable around me.

Silence filled the room.

“Honey, good morning,” I greeted, forcing the words out.

He blinked, looked at me for a while, I instinctively stepped aside as he moved past me into the living room. He never said a word nor replied.

I struggled to contain the hurt, as my feet trembled abruptly and I staggered backward. My back resting against the wall for support, the weight of his neglect hit me hard and ran down my spine.

Then, like he sensed my unease, he stopped, adjusted his tie. He turned in my direction, his eyes locked into mine.

“I don't know where the heck you slept last night.” He paused, still touching his tie, while his eyes remained fixed on mine.

“The bedroom is no longer yours. Make sure to get your things out before I return,” he added, his voice cold as ice.

The loud sound of the door echoed behind him.

Words failed me. Maybe I should speak, let out the burdens, but… no? I couldn't.

They remained buried in my throat. The raw impact; so sharp, deep, and painful.

I found myself falling to the ground, my fingers pinned deep into the tiled floor, as though they owed me something. Pain shot through my broken heart. It continued like an endless ocean.

He had said he wanted a break? Does that also include me moving out of the bedroom?

His actions tore deeper than the cancer itself. I found my hands wrapped around my chest to contain the pain.

After sucking in a deep breath, I slowly got up and pushed myself forward into the bedroom.

I fought hard as my eyes scanned the bedroom. The one I thought belonged to us, at least up until now.

The organ called the heart didn't do me any favor. It shredded even more. For a moment, it looked like a nightmare. I would wake up only to realize everything was just a cruel trick of my imagination.

But here I was. Even after the doctor's warnings to stay off trauma until after the surgery. Yet, pain wrap my heart like a second skin.

“It’s a fifty-fifty chance of survival.” The doctor's words rang in my heart, stirring greater dread.

Reminding me I was dying.

I was fighting a losing battle alone.

Never wanting to build my hopes around the possibility of making it through the surgery.

At least not like this. Not when my marriage felt vacant after the loss of my baby and womb five years ago.

I blinked, letting the tears fall as everything shattered inside me.

I walked into the washroom, the mirror casting a faded reflection of my pale face. My eyes remained sunken and red, my lips dry and colorless.

Nothing was more painful than being in such a condition and being neglected, not by anyone else, but by the very one you have sacrificed ten years of your life for.

I freshened up and went down to the dining room to take out the spoiled food.

Then, I heard the sound of the door creaking open. My heart skipped.

Lucas just left and can only be back by noon. Who was that?

Again, I heard voices, a lady and a little child. Unsure of my thoughts, I dropped the plate and hurried over.

Then I saw them. My breath caught in my throat.

My mouth widened.

There, wrapped in Lucas’s arms, was Sonia, my secretary, and a little boy of about five years standing next to them. His tiny eyes sparkled as he scanned the living room, his face flushed with excitement.

“Sonia!” I called immediately.

She looked at me, and a smirk formed at the corner of her lips.

“Yes? Why are you shouting my name?” she asked, tightening her grip on Lucas.

He said nothing, just those darkened stares that lingered on me.

“What are you doing with him in my home, clinging to my husband?” I asked, my voice heavy.

The little child ran out of Lucas' grip, running and jumping excitedly. His eyes fixed on Lucas.

“I love this place,” he chuckled, then ran back into Lucas's arms, who received him in a warm embrace, so affectionate that something tore inside me.

Could it be…

I turned to Lucas. “Who is he?” I asked, expecting an answer.

But he never replied. Instead, he kissed the little child on his forehead, running his hands through his curly hair, and the child giggled.

“Daddy, is this our new home?” the little boy chimed, and just then, I found myself stumbling a little backward.

My body felt numb. What I feared stared at my face.

He called him Daddy!

Was it true that Lucas had a son outside our marriage? No? This could be a joke, or certainly a mix-up.

“Yes, my love. It has always been your home,” Lucas said, a smile on his face. His voice carried a great sense of emotion that made something in me to crack.

The little boy’s laughter echoed excitedly. He jumped around the living room, then ran toward the couch and took his seat. My eyes never stopped following him as his tiny eyes flashed in my direction.

He smiled.

“Daddy, is she the maid you told us was living in our new house?” he asked, turning to Lucas, who looked in my direction with that unreadable gaze.

Hot pain shot through me as I saw that vulnerability in his eyes. He hesisted for a while, looked at me, then turned away gently brushing his cheeks.

Then he spoke.

“Yes, my love. She is.”