Dr Meera Saravana has been on the run for the last ten years due to a fatal misunderstanding. She ends up in New York, hoping that maybe this time everything will work out. But that's turning out to be impossible the more she gets involved with the...
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IVAN
It had taken two weeks for me to recover. And then another two weeks before I was able to be discharged. The last two weeks were the worst, I was completely bedridden and I did nothing but writing and look over reports.
And I'll admit, it was the worst two weeks of my life.
My shoulder ached and I was popping painkillers like candy to keep it away. Dr Carlson has reminded to me bear the pain, taking too many pain meds would only make it worse. A part of me wanted to tell him to fuck off but he had a medical degree and I had an MBA, it's obvious who I listened to. I looked down at the papers strewn across my desk. Some of them were urgent, and others I could procrastinate on. The one I was supposed to sign off on took me almost thirty minutes because every time I tried reading a damn line my mind wandered away.
I was about to say fuck it and call it a day when the door opened with a slight creak. Normally I would tell someone off for entering my study without knocking. Not even Anya could get away with that.
My mother walked in, dressed in black from head to toe. Her brown hair was stained with silver streaks at her temple, pulled aside to reveal her worried pale face. Her face looked so tired and I felt tense just at the sight of her. Maybe it's because I noticed how ghost-like she had become, she looked like a husk most of the time, barely speaking or moving.
I hadn't seen her in weeks. Even though I'd been in our childhood home for weeks, I felt like she was toast just coming out of the wall. I knew that she was grieving, I didn't expect her sadness and anger to go away suddenly but I just didn't understand why didn't she come and see me when I was in the hospital.
I put a smile on my face, masking the sudden uneasiness that surrounded me. I stood up, pushing away my chair. "Mom." I braced myself for whatever she was going to say. "I'm happy to see you."
"Ivan, dear." She gave me a weak smile and sat down in the chair, crossing her ankles gracefully. "How's the shoulder? Healed up?"
"Better." I sat up and got her a drink from the bar cart in the corner.
Eddie had asked if I wanted it to be taken out but I insisted that it should stay. Dad never really drank much, it was more of a decoration than anything but I didn't have the heart to get rid of it. Maybe one day I will. Who knows?
I knew mom stayed away from alcohol too but there were times when she would pour herself a strong drink. Nobody dared to speak about it when it happened. We just pretended there wasn't a crystal glass in her hand. I poured the half-empty bottle of cognac into one of the crystal glasses before handing it over to her. She thanked me and took a silent sip of the amber liquid, her eyes glancing over my shoulder and staring out into the garden that Anya had painstakingly restored.
I wished knew what my mother was thinking. She had green eyes which were intuitive. Sometimes, her eyes would sparkle when someone interested her. These days, I haven't seen her eyes shine like that. Now they were just dull and almost lifeless.
