Matilda Garcia is married to one of the most established lawyers and land owners in Trinidad, and she cannot be more happier. Until, an object from her past suddenly appears in her life which leads to solve the mystery of her dead daughter, and circ...
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I was fast asleep in the hospital room two days later, only to be woken up by someone pounding on the door. I released a tired yawn as I lazily crawled out of the bed, ignoring my sore body (the after product of Henry's beating). I dragged my half dead feet across the floor, walking over to the door. Nevertheless, the person on the other side flung the door open (almost hitting me in the face with it), and barging into the room.
I rubbed my eyes, then I looked up at the intruder. A visibly distressed Mackenzie stood before me, breathing heavily. Her hair was messy, and she was sweating all over her body. She clutched a pen tightly in her grasp. I assumed she was taking notes before experiencing whatever it was that distressed her.
Even though I didn't understand what was going on, I gave her sympathetic look. "Poor girl, who died?" I mentally commented.
"Who died?" I voiced the latter part of my thought. All of a sudden, her dishevelled expression melted away and was quickly replaced with the stoic professionalism associated with medical practitioners. I pouted in disappointment when I saw this transition. The one other emotion that Mackenzie had shown apart from fake nonchalance and self control since I had known her for the past couple days was gone just like that.
"No," she spat. It seemed that she took my question as an unfunny joke. I could almost hear her unspoken words: Matilda, why would you joke about that... at this time? "However, there is a problem," she added.
I scoffed, "I can see that." Mackenzie didn't take too kindly to my response. She sighed deeply as if she was lifting weights.
"Matilda, this isn't the time..." She attempted to say, but her words trailed off into the air because I decided to interrupt her.
"Yeah, yeah, skip the lecture and just get on with it," I murmured. The young doctor's face barely changed as she ignored my impertinent behaviour. I watched her closely when she reached around her neck, and then put the two ends of her stethoscope in both of her ears. With her usual confidence, she pointed at the bed, directing me to sit on it. I shrugged aimlessly, doing what I was told. She marched over to me and, she placed the round end of the stethoscope on my chest.
She noted, scribbling on her notepad, "Sounds good." She averted her gaze to the screen beside my bed that displayed my numbers. In an awkward silence, she recorded the numbers on said notepad.
"Okay, everything looks great," she announced. She capped her pen and shoved it into the breast pocket of her coat.
I moved backwards to rest my back against the bed's metal headboard, and my head against the wall.
"So, what's got you so spooked?" I asked her again. The student doctor sighed and fixed a strand of hair in place. Her lips worked as she proceeded to explain herself.
She revealed, "Your husband was here."
It would be a damn lie if I told you that I was surprised that Henry would come here. To be honest, I sort of expected it. Knowing the type of person he was, it was natural for him to here. But of course, that didn't stop my heart from threatening to jump out of my chest, or my body shaking with rage. My fists clenched the bed sheet as if to displace all of my anger into it. As usual the fact that Henry had been in the same building as me made my skin want to peel away. How dare he come here after what he did to me? Did he have no shame? Or, did he love to torture me? I could imagine the amount of trouble he must have gave the hospital staff.
