Mothers Eyes

Rigorous ends

Theo was panic-stricken as she anxiously requested a second opinion on her husband Tate’s condition. The doctor, a calm presence amidst the chaos, explained that a whole team was scouring every possible avenue for an answer. "I will gladly have them come meet with you, and I welcome any alternative options from them. I’m truly sorry, Theo; we will get the meeting set up as soon as possible."

As she sat by Tate's bedside, the beeping of the monitors providing a grim soundtrack, Theo pulled out her phone to call her emergency contacts. She started contacting everyone she knew in a desperate attempt to find help for him, each call filled with hope that someone would have a lead, a remedy, anything. When she reached out to Ryder, Remi, and Jewels, she felt a heavy weight on her chest. These were her family, and having to share such dire news felt unbearable.

After those emotionally exhausting calls, they began their drive towards the hospital, and Theo’s resolve hardened—she was determined to have some positive news for them by the time they arrived. Just as she was wrapping her mind around that slim ray of hope, there was a sharp knock at the door. It creaked open slowly, revealing a team of twelve doctors, each one representing a different field of expertise.

They introduced themselves in rapid succession, moving with a sense of purpose that was both reassuring and overwhelmingly intimidating. One by one, they began to explain each test, its results, and what that meant for Tate’s precarious state. Theo listened, her heart pounding, as she held Tate’s hand more tightly, terrified of what each explanation might lead to. As each doctor exited, apologizing for their inability to do more, her heart sank further. She had desperately hoped that one of them would spark a flicker of hope amidst the despair.

Before the last doctor could finish his explanation, chaos erupted in the room. Tate began to convulse as though he were being electrified, his body writhing uncontrollably between the sheets. The doctor’s voice abruptly turned urgent as he called a code blue, and in an instant, the room was flooded with medical personnel—nurses and doctors rushing in, their movements fluid and practiced, but to Theo, it felt like a nightmare in slow motion. The vividness of the scene blurred her vision as she backed into the corner of the room, paralyzed by fear. What seemed like an eternity passed before one doctor’s voice broke through the frantic murmurs, declaring solemnly, "Time of death: 8:21 p.m."

Theo's heart dropped, and the ground beneath her seemed to vanish. Disbelief washed over her as she crumpled, unable to comprehend the finality of what had just transpired. A fog enveloped her mind as she could hear muffled voices around her—people trying to reach her, trying to offer comfort—but the words felt distant, like an echo fading into silence. A chilling thought pierced through the darkness of her mind: Ryder and Remi—good God, how do I tell them? They were going to walk into this room, full of hope, only to find out that their father was gone.

She forced herself to her feet, shaking as she willed her mind and body to move, to function. The doctor had left the room, but behind her, she could hear the faint sounds of the nurses still discussing the situation in hushed tones as they finished their work and walked out. She stumbled toward Tate’s bedside, draping herself across him as she held his hand, crying out silently in her anguish. She pleaded with Tate, wishing for him to somehow answer her, to provide some guidance on how she could navigate this alone.

It dawned on her that no one had informed her of what had happened to him, of how he had ended up in this horrific condition. What could have possibly caused every organ in his body to fail in such a short span? Lost in her thoughts, she sat alone with Tate—every second feeling like an eternity—as she ran through scenarios in her mind, detecting inconsistencies and searching for a reason. Soon enough, the hospital’s grief counselor entered the room, their expression somber as they approached. "Hello, my name is Grace,” she began gently. “I wanted to see if we could speak."

Theo shot her a glare, her grief morphing into anger. " Tate has all of his funeral arrangements prepared. All I need are my children. I will be fine on my own. However, I would like to understand what happened to my husband that put him in this condition." Grace’s surprise was evident; she quickly nodded and murmured, "I'll see if I can find out for you."

As Grace left to pursue answers, Theo’s mind raced. How could she possibly tell Ryder and Remi that their father had passed away? The words wouldn’t form in her mind, heavy and trapped, especially with them arriving soon. Just then, an unexpected knock at the door jolted her from her thoughts. It was the morgue workers, here to begin clearing the room and transporting Tate. The sight of them filled her with a surge of panic.

She struggled with the idea of them taking him away, but the reality pressed heavily on her heart—it was time to let go. With tear-filled eyes and a heavy heart, she managed to whisper, "Yes, but may I please stay while he is cleaned up? I feel as if I need to be here." After exchanging hesitant looks, the workers agreed but warned her that it could be disturbing. As the men began their task, Theo found herself inspecting every inch of Tate’s body, longing for some semblance of recognition, searching for any oddities or signs that might explain what had occurred.

It was during this intimate moment that she developed a resolve to focus on him, even as her heart shattered anew. Before they took him from the room, she found her voice and asked, "Could I see his wound, please?" One of the workers began to carefully pull back the bandage, and as it was revealed, a wave of disbelief washed over them all. There was no gaping wound, only a perfectly healed scar. They leaned in, their astonishment palpable as they collectively exclaimed, "What the hell!"

Instead of the expected injury, the scar appeared bizarre—a small diamond shape with four dots, one on each side, situated over a tattoo that Tate had gotten with his father when he was just sixteen. The sight was both intriguing and horrifying. Theo, her heart racing with newfound curiosity coupled with dread, asked the workers if they had ever seen a wound like that and how it could have healed so seamlessly. They shook their heads in disbelief, mirroring her confusion.

In a frantic moment of clarity, she grabbed her phone and snapped a picture of the scar for closer examination later, convinced that this peculiar marking would unveil clues to the mystery of Tate's sudden decline. As the men collected themselves and continued wheeling Tate out of the room and down the long, sterile hallway toward the morgue, Theo felt a piercing sense of loss intertwining with an unsettling curiosity. What dark secrets lay behind that strange mark? What had truly happened to her husband? The questions loomed over her like thunderclouds, and as she followed the procession, a fierce determination began to take root within her. She would find out the truth, no matter the cost.