Seven Days To Forget The Billionaire

The Appointment

Anna’s POV

“Did you go inside?”

“Have you seen the doctor?”

“Are you still there?”

Sandra had asked a thousand things before I could answer to one. I knew this was the reason she called me. Ever since I told her about my slight headaches, I avoided every call from her but this time, I couldn’t fight it.

I listened to her worry from the other end. I promised her I’d make it to my appointment today. It wasn’t the first promise I had made about my appointment.

For almost two weeks, I had found one excuse after another to avoid it. There was always something more important to do. A meeting, a business dinner, something Mark needed,something the company needed or simply the fact that I didn’t want to know.

Sometimes, ignorance felt safer. When the call ended, I remained in the car for a few more seconds. The hospital in front of me. Tall and grey against the cloudy London sky.

People moved in and out through the glass door, carrying handbags, medical files and worried expressions. A taxi stopped near the entrance and an elderly man stepped out with the help of a nurse.

Everyone seemed to have somewhere to go. I was the only one sitting still. My fingers tightened around my handbag. It was ridiculous to be nervous about a Doctor’s appointment. I mean, it wasn’t like I was dying. I was tired and that was all.

The headache was probably because of stress and the dizziness because I wasn’t eating properly. The nausea could be anything. There were hundreds of harmless explanations.

The moment I stood, a wave of dizziness hit me. I grabbed the door. The world tilted for a brief second. I closed my eyes and waited. One breath,two then everything settled. I looked around, nobody had noticed.

I straightened my blouse and walked towards the entrance like nothing just happened. Inside, the smell of disinfectant greeted me.

The hospital was busier than I expected. Nurses hurried through the corridors, doctors spoke quietly to one another and patients filled almost every seat in the waiting area.

I approached the reception desk and gave my name. The receptionist typed something into her computer. “Anna Carthwell?”

“Yes.” I answered almost immediately. She looked at her screen again. This time, she didn’t immediately respond. Her fingers stopped moving. I watched her eyes scan whatever was written in front of her before she looked up at me. There was something strange about her expression. It wasn’t fear. Perhaps she was concerned.

It disappeared so quickly that I began to wonder if I had imagined it. “Is there a problem?” She gave me a polite smile and shook her head. “No, please take a seat. The Doctor will call you.” I thanked her and walked away.

I chose a chair near the window. My handbag rested on my lap as I watched cars move along the road outside. I checked my phone. My screen hadn’t lit up in hours. No message from Mark. Why did I expect one? He knew I was coming here. At least, I thought he did.

I opened our chat. The last message was still sitting there. “Busy today, I’ll be at the office.” I stared at it for a moment, then I locked my phone. Today wasn’t about Mark. For once, it was about me but the thought felt unfamiliar.

I had spent time making sure everyone was fine but I had forgotten what it meant to worry about taking care of myself.

“Anna carthwell?” I looked up. The nurse stood a few feet away. I got to my foot and followed her. We walked down a long corridor, away from the noise of the waiting room. The further we went, the quieter everything became.

I noticed the nurse checking my file as we walked. She seemed so distracted. I wanted to ask what she was reading but something stopped me from doing that. Perhaps, I was already imagining things. The room was small but comfortable.

The Doctor was seated behind his desk. He greeted me warmly and motioned for me to sit. I placed my handbag behind the chair. For the first few minutes, everything was normal.

He asked about my headaches, when they started and how often it happened. For the first time, I answered these questions honestly. Then came the dizziness, the nausea, the constant exhaustion and loss of appetite.

The Doctor wrote something down after every answer. I watched his pen wobble as fast as possible on the paper. Something about the way he was taking notes made my stomach tighten.

I had expected him to tell me that I was stressed. Instead, he told me he wanted to run some tests. I agreed. What else could I do? The next few hours disappeared into a series of examinations.

Blood tests, scans, more questions. At one point, I sat alone in a small room with a needle in my arm and stared at the ceiling.

The ceiling tiles were arranged in neat squares, each one identical to the next. I counted them without really meaning to. Anything was better than thinking of why I was there.

I didn’t want to think about the possibility that something could actually be wrong with me. My phone vibrated. I looked down;it was Mark. My heart gave an embarrassing little jump. I opened the message. It was a document of Brantley Holdings,nothing else.

I stared at my screen for a few seconds before locking it again. Even now, he needed something from me. I almost laughed at the thought of this. Maybe this was what our marriage had become. If he needed, I gave and somehow, I convinced myself that was love. The nurse returned and removed the needle from my arm.

She pressed cotton against the spot and told me the doctor will see me again once the results were ready. I nodded and that was when the wait began. I sat alone for hours. Every now and then, I checked the clock then my phone.

I tried reading the magazine on the table beside me but I just couldn’t concentrate on a single sentence. My thoughts kept going back to the doctor’s question.

Had I lost weight? Yes. Was I constantly tired? Almost all the time. Suddenly, all the things I had dismissed began to feel connected. The door opened. I looked up.

The doctor stood there holding a file. He didn’t smile. That was the first thing that made me worry. I sat straighter as he walked inside and closed the door behind me.

For a moment, he said nothing. He simply looked through the papers. I watched his face carefully. “Doctor?” He lifted his eyes. “Anna, we need to discuss.” My fingers tightened around the edge of the chair.

“What is it?” He placed the file on the desk. “The tests confirms that your condition is more serious than we thought.” I stared at him. The room suddenly felt cold. “What condition?” He explained it slowly, making sure I understood every part.

There was a serious problem affecting my health, and it had become worse than medication could solve. I listened carefully then one word stood out. ‘Surgery.’ I blinked. “Surgery?!” He nodded.

I gave a nervous laugh. I couldn’t help it. “I thought I was just stressed.” A calm smile made its way to his lips. “I know.” His voice was gentle and that frightened me even more.

I looked down at my hands. “How serious is it?” He didn’t answer immediately. “We need to proceed as soon as we can, Anna. Waiting for so long will only cause more harm.”

Those words hit hard. “How long do I have?” The doctor looked at me directly. He hesitated. “Seven… seven days.” My breath suddenly seized. For a moment, I thought he was wrong but then, I couldn’t know the job more than he did.

My hands began to shake. Seven days. That was all I had. Seven days to decide if I was brave enough to risk the surgery, seven days to look at my life and decide what I wanted to leave behind.

I stared at the doctor. “What happens if I don’t?” He expected that question. “Then I’m afraid you might not make it.” I barely heard any of the things he said.

My mind had gone to Mark; our wedding, the house, to the years I spent loving a man who couldn’t even look up from his phone when I spoke.

Three years. I gave him three whole years of my life and now I had just seven days to decide what to do with the rest of it. I reached for my phone. Mark’s name was still at the top of the list. My thumb hovered over it, deciding if I should call or not. God! I wanted to tell him everything.

I tried to imagine his voice, his shock,even his fear…maybe he would finally understand. Maybe he would finally choose me. Then another thought cut it. What if he didn’t? What if I told him I was dying and he still didn’t care.

I lowered my phone. No. I wasn’t going to spend the last days of my life begging someone to notice that I was hurting. The doctor continued to explain the process of the surgery, the risks, and preparation involved. I listened this time.

When he finished, he gave me a moment to think. My hands had stopped shaking but the fear remained inside of me but underne the fear was something I hadn’t felt in a long time. Clarity.

I had risked my all for my marriage and I wasn’t going to spend my seven days doing any more of that. I looked up at the doctor.

“I’ll do the surgery.” He nodded. He seemed happy for me. I took a deep breath before leaving. I left the hospital that afternoon with a date for my surgery and a secret I wasn’t ready to tell my husband.

For the first time since I married Mark Brantley, I had something to myself; a deadline and I intend to use every second of it.