The School of Wives

Chapter One

I walk down the empty, grey corridor. My bare feet making quiet patting sounds on the cold, concrete floor. My loose-fitting white dress swings around my ankles, letting the cold air bring a chill to my legs. My long, black hair frames my face and warms my ears, and my back, from where it hangs, covering them with its thickness as if it were a blanket.

I dread the coming appointment. I don't want to go. I don't want to see the person who glares at me as she checks me over. Scorning over the fact that I am healthy. Or as healthy as one can be when they aren't fed as much as everyone else.

Everyone glares at me. All the time. I don't know why no one likes me. Everyone in this hell is treated wonderfully. And then there is me. They treat me as if I am not worth the air I breathe.

I get to the door of the medical wing and stand in front of it. Not wanting to knock just yet. Or ever. Even though I know I must.

I take a deep breath, and I knock.

The door slides open and I enter, slowly, to find two men wearing white doctors' robes. They are talking quietly to each other, but they stop and smile at me when they see me.

They smile at me.

No one has ever smiled at me before. Unless it was because they were enjoying my pain.

"Hello, you must be Bella. Please, come through to the office and we will examine you," the older man says in a kind voice, a smile still on his face.

I slowly follow them past all the beds and into the office. The older man looks to be in his forties. He wears black, square glasses and has brown, greying hair. The younger man looks similar to him, although he appears to be in his early twenties, with the brown hair and pale skin.

We enter the office and the older man gestures for me to sit one the bed as the younger one closes the door. As I walk over to the bed, I tug down my long sleeves as I notice that they are starting to ride up, the fresh bruises peeking out of them.

I sit on the bed and watch as they both grab a copy of my incredibly thin file and take the two chairs in front of the bed.

They still smile at me.

"Who are you?" I ask as my curiosity gets the better of me before slapping my hand over my mouth as I remember that I am not meant to ask questions.

"You're allowed to ask questions. You know that, right?" The younger man asks me, his light blue eyes shining with kindness as he speaks.

"No. I've always been told that I am not allowed to ask questions. No rich man will want me if I am always asking him questions," I say, repeating the thing that I have been told repeatedly over the years.

"Well, you can ask us questions. All the other girls ask questions, why can't you?" The older man replies, his green eyes also shining with kindness.

"I don't know," is all I am able to say.

"To answer your question, my name is Doctor David Winters, and this is my son Doctor James Winters,"

"Why are you here?" I whisper tentatively.

"Your previous nurse retired. We were hired in her place. Now, before we get into the examination, we have some questions that we would like to ask you. You don't have to answer them if you don't want to, but the more you answer the more we will be able to help you. Is that okay?" David says.

"Okay,"

"Okay. When we were hired, we were asked to not treat you as well as we were to treat the other girls. Do you know why were asked that?"