MAYA, my love.

CHAPTER 28

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the city, Mey stepped into the imposing entrance of Miller Cross Hospital. The heavy wooden doors creaked open, enveloping her in the antiseptic scent of carbolic soap and the muted murmur of worried conversations. The atmosphere was heavy with distress; it was a familiar sight for her, yet the conditions here were far worse than those at the royal hospital.

The fading sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating the anxious faces of relatives and friends. Their whispers and muffled sobs filled the crowded lobby, creating an oppressive ambiance that underscored the weight of uncertainty hanging over the polished marble floors.

Mey approached the nurse's station, striving to maintain her composure amidst the turmoil. "Arthur Bellack! Where is he? I need to see him," she inquired, her voice firm but laced with concern. The nurse's gaze flicked up, her eyes red-rimmed from exhaustion. She consulted the files and replied, "Ward 3, Room 17." Her tone was cold and indifferent; she did not inquire whether Mey was related to Arthur, allowing her entry into the wards without hesitation.

Mey's eyes narrowed with urgency. "What's his condition?" she pressed, her voice low but filled with anxiety.

The nurse's hesitation spoke volumes, echoing the unease in Mey's heart. "Consult the doctor," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. Frustration bubbled within Mey as she noted the nurse's unprofessional demeanor, but she pushed it aside, knowing time was of the essence. Without a moment's pause, she rushed inside.

Navigating the labyrinthine wards, the soft glow of gas lamps cast eerie shadows on the walls, heightening her unease. She attempted to remain calm while keeping her distance from the other patients, many visibly suffering from the epidemic. A handkerchief covered her nose and mouth—an effort to shield herself from the pervasive atmosphere of illness—though no one else seemed to share her concern.

Each step felt like a weight pressing down on her chest, the creaking of wooden floorboards and the soft rustle of medical charts amplifying the sense of dread. Mey's heart sank with every passing moment, the air thick with the sounds of coughing and muffled sobs that reverberated through the corridors.

Finally, she reached the isolation ward, where the sign on the door read "Quarantine," a grim reminder of the desperation within.

Peering through the frosted glass window of Room 17, Mey's heart shattered. Arthur lay motionless on the bed, and even from a distance, he appeared gravely ill and exhausted. She hesitated, her hand trembling on the doorknob as the reality of the situation weighed heavily on her. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to enter. The door creaked open, its sound cutting through the oppressive stillness. The scent of sweat and disinfectant assaulted her senses, making her stomach churn.

She approached his bedside, her heart breaking as she took in his frail figure. His once-vibrant face was now pallid, a stark contrast to the lively person she had known. His eyes, once bright with vitality, were now sunken and lifeless, his skin taking on a haunting shade of blue. Blood smeared the front of his hospital gown, a horrifying indication of his dire condition.

Collapsing into the chair beside his bed, Mey grasped his icy hands, tears streaming down her face as the weight of her grief threatened to engulf her. In that moment, all protocols and distances faded into insignificance; she was consumed by her sorrow. Clinging to Arthur's hands, her heartbreak overwhelmed her, filling the air with the sound of her weeping, which mingled with his shallow, labored breathing to create a haunting melody of despair.

As she held his hand, the depth of her grief bore down upon her like a heavy shroud. Her body shook with uncontrollable sobs, her heart heavy with the terrifying realization that she might lose him. This was the first time she had cared for someone so deeply that the very thought of their death filled her with paralyzing fear. How ironic it was—she was a doctor, yet this was a lesson about the fragility of life she had never fully understood. Despite her skills, she had been blissfully unaware of the profound emotional toll that such loss could exact.