Vows Dipped In Poison

On the night Clara found out she was dying, her husband was putting another woman's children to sleep. The fluorescent lights in the hospital corridor buzzed above her head. Clara sat in the hard plastic chair outside the cardiology unit, gripping the edges of the brown envelope that held her test results. Her fingers were white at the knuckles. Benjamin stood in front of her. His white coat was crisp, his expression was not. He looked at her the way doctors look at patients they cannot save, with a softness that borders on pity. "Clara, the echocardiogram confirmed it," he said. "Dilated cardiomyopathy. Your left ventricle is enlarged and the ejection fraction has dropped below twenty-five percent." Clara's lips moved but no sound came out. She knew what those numbers meant. She had been a top student in medical school before she dropped out. She understood perfectly. Benjamin crouched down so his eyes were level with hers. "Without a transplant, we're looking at eight to twelve months. Maybe less, depending on how fast the deterioration continues." "How long if I do the transplant?" Clara asked. Her voice came out steady. She surprised herself. "If we find a match and the surgery goes well, you could live a full life. But Clara, the waiting list is long and your blood type is rare. We need to get you registered immediately. There are also medications we can start right now to slow the progression." Clara looked down at the envelope. The paper was already wrinkled from her grip. Eight to twelve months. Less than a year. She was twenty-seven years old. "Benjamin, how much would all of this cost?" He hesitated. "The transplant alone runs into hundreds of thousands. The medications, the monitoring, the hospital stays... Clara, let me help you. I can get you into a subsidized program..." "No." She stood up and the corridor tilted for a moment before it straightened. "Thank you for telling me. Please keep this between us." "Clara, you have a husband. He should know." The word "husband" landed like a stone in her chest. She almost laughed. "He is not someone who needs to know," she said quietly. "Promise me, Benjamin. Doctor-patient confidentiality." Benjamin pressed his lips together but nodded. He had seen the bruises on her spirit over the past two years, even if there were none on her skin. He had watched the brightest student he ever mentored shrink into a shadow of herself. He wanted to say more, but Clara was already walking toward the exit. She stopped at the end of the corridor and pulled out her phone. Her hand trembled as she found Raymond's number. She pressed the call button and listened to it ring. Once. Twice. Three times. "What?" His voice was flat. Cold. The way it had been for the past two years. "Raymond, I need to talk to you." "If it is not about the divorce, I have nothing to say." Clara closed her eyes. Behind his voice, she could hear the soft sound of children laughing. Then Felicia's gentle tone floated through, sweet as honey. "Raymond, the girls won't sleep unless you finish the story. They keep asking for their daddy." Daddy. Clara's free hand pressed against the wall for support. Those children were barely two years old. Which meant Raymond had been with Felicia while Clara was still believing in their marriage, still cooking his meals, still pressing his shirts, still waiting for him to come home at night. "Clara, I said what I said. Sign the papers or stop wasting my time." "Fine." The word left her mouth before she could think. "I will sign. Come to the house tomorrow evening. I will have the papers ready." Silence. Then, "You are serious this time?" "Yes, Raymond. I am serious." Another pause. She could almost feel his suspicion through the phone. For the past year, she had refused the divorce no matter what he did. She had begged, cried, pleaded. She had held on with bleeding fingers to a marriage that was already dead. "Seven o'clock," he said. "Do not waste my time again." He hung up. Clara lowered the phone from her ear. The screen went dark and she saw her own reflection in it. Thin face. Hollow eyes. Lips that had forgotten how to smile. She thought about the girl she used to be. Five years ago, she was the top student in her medical school class. Professors said she had the hands of a surgeon and the mind of a researcher. She could have been anything. Then she met Raymond. He had been twenty-four, standing under a streetlight after a rainstorm, his coat soaked through. She offered him her umbrella. He looked at her with those dark eyes and said, "You will get wet." She said, "I don't mind." He smiled. That smile undid her completely. Within a year, they were married. Within two years, he asked her to take a break from school. "I will take care of you," he said. "You don't need to work so hard." She believed him. She left medical school one semester before graduation. By the time Felicia returned from overseas with twin girls and moved into the apartment across from Raymond's office, Clara had nothing left. No degree. No career. No savings of her own. Just a husband who looked through her like she was glass. Clara pushed herself off the wall and walked down the corridor toward the elevator. Her chest ached, but she could not tell if it was her failing heart or the weight of three wasted years. She stepped into the night. The air was cold and heavy with the smell of coming rain. The hospital parking lot was half empty under the yellow lights. As she walked toward the bus stop, she noticed a black car parked near the maternity wing. The license plate was familiar. It belonged to Raymond. Clara stopped walking. The car door opened. Felicia stepped out first, wearing a white wool coat that made her look like she belonged in a magazine. Her hair was loose around her shoulders. She turned and leaned into the car, and when she straightened, she was holding a pink gift bag. She laughed at something and the sound carried across the cold air. Then Raymond stepped out from the driver's side. He walked around the car and put his hand on the small of Felicia's back. He leaned down and said something near her ear. Felicia smiled up at him with a look of pure contentment. Clara watched them walk into the hospital together. His hand never left Felicia's back. His stride was relaxed. He looked like a different man, warm, attentive, present. The man Clara remembered from their first year of marriage. The man who no longer existed when he was with her. Rain started to fall. Clara stood in it without moving. The drops hit her face and mixed with something warm sliding down her cheeks. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and turned toward the bus stop. She had eight months. Maybe twelve. And the only person left in this world who loved her was lying in a hospital bed three floors above, unable to recognize his own daughter half the time. Her phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number appeared on the screen. Clara opened it. Five words stared back at her: "The fire was not his fault." Her blood ran cold. She looked around the empty parking lot. No one was there. Just her, the rain, and a message that made no sense, because the only fire she knew about was the on e that had destroyed Raymond's family sixteen years ago. The one Raymond blamed her father for.