Chapter 3
1140 Words
She managed to make it three blocks.
Three blocks before her legs simply gave out, and the ground came up to meet her before she could do anything about it.
The folder and her bag flew out of her hand, scattering papers everywhere; from that moment on, everything else was history.
At that instant, Victor Cross almost walked right past her.
He had his keys out and was already preoccupied with the meeting he was running late for when he spotted her on the ground. He stopped and looked around, as if expecting someone else to handle it.
But nobody was stepping in to help.
In fact, two people merely walked around her.
He muttered something under his breath, shoved his keys back into his pocket, and crouched down beside her.
“Hey.” He tapped her hand. Nothing. He checked her pulse, felt it, and then looked up at the small crowd that had begun to form, as it seemed people preferred to film rather than help.
“Can someone—” He stopped and pulled out his phone himself. “Never mind.”
He called for an ambulance, provided the address, and then started gathering her papers off the ground while he waited. They were blowing everywhere, and it felt like the right thing to do.
A woman nearby leaned over. “Is she dead?”
Victor looked at her. “She has a pulse, so no.”
“Should we move her?”
“No.”
“Are you a doctor?”
“No.”
The woman nodded, as if this was fascinating information, but she stayed exactly where she was, just watching.
Victor ignored her and continued on the line until the ambulance arrived.
**********
Mara came back to consciousness slowly.
First, she noticed the ceiling, then felt a dull ache across her right shoulder where she must have hit the ground.
She blinked.
“Don’t sit up too fast,” a man’s voice said from somewhere to her right.
She sat up too quickly.
The room tilted violently. She grabbed the bed rail and waited for the dizziness to subside.
“Yeah,” the man said. “That.”
She turned her head carefully.
He was sitting in a chair by the window, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, looking at her with the expression of someone who had been waiting a while.
“Victor Cross,” he said before she could ask. “I found you on the sidewalk.”
“You came in the ambulance?”
“Someone had your paperwork.” He nodded toward the folder on the small table beside her bed, everything neatly gathered inside it. “I figured you’d want it.”
She looked at the folder and then back at him.
“Thank you,” she said.
He shrugged once, as if it wasn’t a big deal, then looked away, giving her space to collect herself without feeling awkward.
The doctor came in ten minutes later, her clipboard already open.
“We need to reach your emergency contact. This information is very important,” she said. “Is there someone we should call?”
Mara opened her mouth but paused for a moment.
“My husband,” she said finally. The word felt strange now. “Frank Calloway.”
The doctor nodded and stepped out.
Victor didn’t speak. He picked up his phone and began scrolling through something, allowing her the space she needed.
The doctor returned seven minutes later with an apologetic expression.
“We’re having trouble reaching him directly. Is there someone else we can contact, or would your—” She glanced at Victor.
“He can try,” Mara said.
Victor looked up.
She gave a small nod.
He took the number from the doctor without hesitation and dialed, putting it on speaker. It rang once. Then twice.
“Who’s this—” Frank’s voice came through, cold and already irritated, without even a hint of a question.
“My name is Victor. I’m calling about your wife, Mara. She collapsed outside your building this morning. We’re at Saint Agnes Hospital, and the doctors need—”
“Collapsed.” There was a short pause. Then a sound that almost resembled a laugh. “Of course she did.”
Victor’s jaw tightened slightly. “Sir, she lost consciousness. She arrived by ambulance—”
“She does this,” Frank said, completely unbothered. “Last year, she pulled something similar when I cancelled our anniversary dinner. It’s a pattern.”
“Sir, with respect, this isn’t—”
“Is she awake?”
Victor glanced at Mara. She remained silent, just staring at the wall.
“Yes,” Victor replied.
“Then she’s fine.” Frank’s voice was steady and monotonous, betraying no emotion. “Tell her whatever she’s hoping to get out of this isn’t going to work. I signed the papers. It’s done.”
“Mr. Calloway—”
“And don’t call this number again.” There was a brief pause. “Actually, you know what? If she’s that desperate for my attention, call me when she’s dead. I’ll come take her corpse myself.”
The line went dead, and the room fell completely silent.
Victor stood very still, phone in hand, staring into space for a moment. Then he turned around.
Mara was still looking at the wall.
He crossed the room slowly and reached into his pocket, pulling out her phone.
She took it from him, then did something he didn’t expect.
She laughed.
It was a short, quiet sound that held no trace of humor. It was the kind of laugh that comes from someone so far past hurt that their body didn’t know how else to react.
She set the phone down on the bed, pressed her fingers flat against the mattress, and stared at her hand for a moment.
Then she looked up at Victor. “Do you have a charger? My phone is about to die.”
Victor blinked.
“I—” He reached into his jacket pocket. “Yeah, actually.”
“Thank you.” She took the charger from him and plugged her phone in.
Victor sat back down in his chair.
He didn’t say he was sorry, nor did he ask if she was okay or say anything that might make it worse. He simply sat quietly while she stared at her phone screen, waiting for it to power up.
“Is there someone I can call for you? Anyone,” he asked after a while.
Mara thought about it.
“My cousin,” she said. “Caleb.”
“Are you close?”
“Not really.” She found the number and handed Victor her phone. “But he picks up.”
Victor took the phone and dialed without another word…
- Writer
