Chapter 9:TheHollowdischarge
985 Words
The hospital smelled of antiseptic and fading lilies from the visitors’ desk.
Mateo sat on the edge of the bed, his discharge papers folded neatly in his lap, though he hadn’t read a word of them.
His eyes were fixed on the sterile white wall ahead of him, blank and unyielding, much like the truth he had just been handed.
“Infertile”
The word throbbed in his skull like a wound that refused to close.
The doctor’s voice still echoed, measured and sympathetic:
“I’m sorry, Mr.Mateo .”He had said before exiting his ward.
Mateo had nodded then, too numb to speak, too proud to collapse in front of a stranger.
But inside, something cracked, something irretrievable.
A shadow moved at the door.
Lyra stepped in, her heels clicking softly against the tiled floor, dressed to kill. Her face was bright with the relief of his discharge.
She carried a small bag in one hand and a smile that looked rehearsed.
“You’re finally coming home,” she said warmly, setting the bag down on the chair as she pecked him on his cheek.
He closed his eyes, hiding the anger building up.
“The children will be glad to see you, they have missed you. They pleaded to come with me but I refused them” She kept ranting not minding if he was listening.
The words pierced him like a needle. “The children,” he said out loud with anger in his eyes
“Yes, our children”
Then her gaze met his,
“Darling, are you okay?” she asked
His stomach turned.
“Did she really mean it or was it part of her scheme?”
For years, he had embraced the children, called them his own, nurtured their laughter.
But now, the certainty was gone.
If he had never been capable of fathering a child, then whose children were they? Was she cheating on him? His mind raced with different thoughts
Mateo really looked at her. The curve of her lips, the grace in her movements, the way her eyes flickered with practiced affection.
Had it all been a performance? Did she ever love him? Had she carried another man’s blood into their home and allowed him to wear the mask of fatherhood?
The silence stretched until Lyra’s smile faltered.
“Mateo?” she asked softly. “You’re awfully quiet.”
“Are you okay?” she asked him again
He blinked, forcing his face into composure.
“Just tired.” he lied
It was the easiest excuse. The truest lie.
She moved closer, brushing her hand against his. He pulled back almost imperceptibly, the gesture small but undeniable.
Lyra paused, her eyes searching his face, but she said nothing.
He sighed, rubbing his temples.
“I know I’ve been… distant. I’m sorry.”
The words came out heavy, empty, as though they had been wrung from him without meaning.
Lyra tilted her head, her brows knitting.
“It’s been hard on both of us,” she said carefully. “I don’t hold it against you, I have forgiven you” she lied
But even as she spoke, he felt her words skim the surface like pebbles thrown into a bottomless well.
There was no depth to them. No ache. No longing.
It struck him then, she had already stopped caring.
And perhaps that was worse than betrayal.
He rose slowly, testing his still-healing legs as he picked up his clothes and began to dress.
Lyra moved to help him, but he waved her off with a curt shake of his head.
“I’m sick, I’m not handicapped. I can manage on my own” He said softly but she stepped back, her hands clasped in front of her, watching him.
“There was something off about him, she just couldn’t figure out”
He could feel her gaze on him, not tender, not angry, just watchful, detached.
The way one watches a stranger one used to know.
“Mateo” she murmured after a long silence,
“When you’re ready… we should talk. Really talk.”
He buttoned his shirt, his fingers stiff, and gave a short laugh devoid of humor.
“Talk? About what exactly?”He stopped himself from going further
Lyra hesitated, her lips parting as though to answer, but no words came. She closed them again, her expression unreadable.
Mateo’s chest tightened. The very act of her silence, the refusal to ask questions, the refusal to demand explanations told him everything.
She had stopped fighting for him. She didn’t care about whatever was bothering him. She had let him go long ago.
And maybe, he thought bitterly, that was why it was so easy for her to smile when she spoke of the children.
As they walked out of the ward together, he kept his distance, allowing a gulf of air to remain between them.
She noticed, of course she did. Lyra was perceptive. But she didn’t reach for him, didn’t bridge the space.
Once, he would have been grateful for her restraint.
Now, it only confirmed his fears: they were strangers inhabiting the same life.
When they reached the car, he muttered,
“I’ll apologize again, Lyra. For being… absent.”
She gave him a polite smile, thin and controlled like he didn’t just brush her off inside
“Apologies aren’t necessary anymore, Mateo. Just focus on healing.”
Her words chilled him. No accusations. No confrontations. Just resignation.
He turned his face toward the window as the car pulled away from the hospital, the city blurring past.
He couldn’t bring himself to look at her again. Not when every thought in his mind screamed that the life he had built, the children he had cherished, the love he had once believed in, might all be illusions.
And Lyra, sitting silently beside him, seemed in no rush to correct him.
- Writer
