Between Love and Lies

Memories in Silence

Valerie didn’t look away from the wound, her hands were dark with blood now, the ankara wrapper soaked through.

“I don’t know,”

She said, honestly because lying would be cruel. “Just keep talking to him. Let him hear your voice.”

The taxi swerved around a pothole and Michael gave a choked cough. Blood bubbled at the corner of his mouth.

“Driver, faster!” Valerie shouted, and the old man muttered another prayer, pressing harder on the accelerator.

St. Luke’s gate came into view, white paint peeling, the red cross flickering under a failing bulb. Sharon was out before the car fully stopped, screaming for help. “Somebody! Please! My husband!”

Two nurses ran out with a stretcher. Valerie and the driver hauled Michael out. His head lolled back, eyes half-open, seeing nothing.

“Stab wound, left thigh, heavy bleeding. We used a tourniquet maybe twenty minutes ago,” Valerie rattled off to the nurse, sounding like she’d done this before. She hadn’t. She just read a lot.

The nurses didn’t ask whose blood was on whose hands. Not yet. They just moved, wheeling Michael through the double doors into that sharp smell of antiseptic and death.

Sharon tried to follow, but a security man held her back. “Family wait here, madam.”

“I’m his wife,” she said, and the word tasted like metal.

Valerie pulled her to the plastic chairs in the waiting area. Both of them were breathing like they’d run the whole way. Sharon’s wrapper was stiff with blood. Valerie’s palms were stained red-brown.

For a long time, neither spoke. The hospital sounds filled the gap, a baby crying somewhere, a cart rattling, the hum of the generator.

Then Sharon broke, Just words, flat and final. “I didn’t want to kill him, Val. I just wanted him to stop.”

Valerie took her hand. Didn’t care about the blood. “I know.”

“And now if he dies”

“He’s not dead yet,” Valerie cut in, firm. “So we don’t borrow that grief. You hear me? One thing at a time.”

The doors swung open. A doctor came out, tired eyes going from Valerie to Sharon, landing on Sharon’s blood-stained hands.

“Are you the wife?”

Sharon stood up too fast and almost fell. “Yes. Is he..”

“He’s alive. For now. He lost a lot of blood. The knife missed the femoral artery by maybe a centimeter. If it had hit, he wouldn’t have made it to the gate.”

The doctor paused.

“We’ve called the police. Hospital policy with stab wounds. They’ll want to speak to you both.”

The word, 'police' hit the air like a stone. Sharon sat back down, hard.

Valerie squeezed her hand once, then let go and stood. “Okay. Thank you, doctor.” She turned to Sharon.

“You don’t say anything until I call my uncle. He’s a lawyer. You understand? Not one word. ‘I want my lawyer’ that’s all you say.”

Sharon nodded.

After about an hour, two police officers walked into the reception. Their shoes left wet prints on the tile as they spoke to the receptionist in low voices. She nodded, then pointed straight at Sharon and Valerie.

The officers turned. One was tall and lean, with a buzz cut and the kind of eyes that had seen too many late nights. The other was shorter, heavier, flipping open a small, rain-damp notebook.

They crossed the waiting room slowly. The other patients suddenly found the floor very interesting.

“Good evening, ma’am,”

The tall one said, stopping in front of Sharon. His tone was polite, but it was the rehearsed politeness cops use before hard questions.

Sharon didn’t look up. She was staring at her hands. The blood had dried dark and cracked across her knuckles. Valerie shifted half an inch closer, putting herself between her friend and the officers without making it obvious.

“I’m Detective Morgan,”

The tall one said, tapping his badge.

“This is Officer Reyes. We understand there was an incident at 14 Maple Street involving Michael Reeves. Are you Mrs. Sharon Reeves?”

Sharon’s throat worked, but no sound came out. Her leg bounced with a tremor she couldn’t stop.

“Ma’am,”

Officer Reyes said, pen poised over paper. “We need to ask you some questions about what happened tonight. The hospital is required to notify us when someone comes in with a stab wound.”

The word stab wound cut through the quiet. A woman holding a sleeping toddler three chairs down glanced over.

Valerie cleared her throat.

“Good evening, detectives. I’m Valerie Nash. My friend is very shaken right now. She’s been through a traumatic event and her husband is still in surgery.”

Detective Morgan’s eyes moved to Valerie. Measuring her. “And your relation to Mrs. Reeves?”

“I’m the one who got them here,”

Valerie said, keeping her voice level. Respectful. No attitude. “And I’ll be calling our attorney before anyone answers questions.”

Officer Reyes clicked his pen. “An attorney. Is there a reason she needs one if she’s done nothing wrong?”

“The reason,” Valerie said, holding his gaze, “is that people say things wrong when they’re scared, and wrong words ruin lives. With respect.”

Detective Morgan almost smiled. Almost. He dragged a plastic chair over with his foot and sat, making himself part of their circle whether they wanted it or not.

“We’re not here to arrest anyone yet, Ms. Nash. We’re here to understand. Mrs. Reeves, can you tell us what happened to your husband?”

Sharon finally lifted her head. Her eyes were red, but dry. She looked at Valerie.

Valerie gave one tiny shake of her head. Don’t..

Sharon swallowed and dropped her gaze back to her hands.

“I want my lawyer,” she whispered. The words were thin, but they were there.

Officer Reyes exhaled through his nose.

“See, this is how small things get big. If you just tell us what happened, maybe it was self-defense. Maybe it was an accident. But when people lawyer up, it looks like they’re hiding something.”

“My uncle is Daniel Nash,” Valerie said, pulling her phone from her jacket. The screen was cracked, but it lit up.

“He’s a criminal defense attorney. Give me five minutes and he’ll speak with you and advise my friend”

Detective Morgan studied Sharon, the blood on her arms, the way she held herself like she might come apart. His face didn’t soften, but his posture eased a fraction.

“Five minutes,” he said, standing.

“We’ll be with the doctor. Don’t leave hospital grounds.”

He nodded to Reyes and they walked back toward the double doors where Michael was.

The second they were out of earshot, Sharon folded against Valerie’s shoulder. No sound. Just shaking.

“You did good,” Valerie murmured, dialing with a thumb that wouldn’t stay still.

“Exactly right. Just breathe. One thing at a time.”

On the third ring, a deep voice answered. “Valerie? Why are you calling at this hour?”

“Uncle Dan,” Valerie said, and her voice cracked, just a little. “We need you. It’s bad. Please come to St. Mercy’s. Now.”

Outside, the rain kept coming down, drumming against the ER entrance. Inside, the clock above reception read 2:17 a.m.