Page 4 of Medical Malpractice

Years of recovery got me to a stage of acceptance. That path wasn’t destined for me, but it didn’t mean my love and attention had to go to waste. I had so much to give.

I poured all that extra focus into the sick kids I cared for, which fulfilled my days with enough light to keep out the dark.

Yet, that logo… That tiny pink logo had me relapsing fast.

With trembling fingers, I ripped the envelope open, my eyes racing over the letter addressed to my husband.

I wished I hadn’t.

Crippling pain electrified my nervous system with each word I read.

As per your request, please find your test results disclosed below…

His full STD panel was negative, but that’s not what broke me. That was left to the final paragraph wrapping up the intimate letter with a lovely, soul-destroying bow.

Based on your latest semen analysis, your vasectomy remains viable after thirteen years. However, this is not a fail-safe method to verify paternity. If you require further clarification, we also offer accurate and discreet DNA tests…

Black invaded my vision, blocking out the hurtful words screaming from the page.

I don’t want to see anymore. Please don’t let me see anymore.

As if answering my desperate call, my brain shut everything down.

All I remembered was falling.

Fingers pressed the inside of my wrist as someone stroked my hair.

My eyes fluttered open to my husband hovering above me. However, there was something wrong. He looked stressed, his eyes wide with panic as his brows scrunched together.

A tinged haze coated my senses, blocking me from something, as if my body and mind were in a protective state.

Hypnotised, my hand raised to smooth the harsh lines of his face. “What’s wrong, honey?”

Nico gasped, then dragged me into his lap, squeezing so tightly I could hardly breathe. His lips scattered kisses down my face, his tone urgent and rushed.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Fucking hell, Gabs. You gave me a heart attack. I walked in the door and found you unconscious. Don’t ever do that to me again. I thought I fucking lost you. I can never lose you. Fuck, babe.”

He was trembling, shock having overtaken him.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the haze began to lift.

Floor? Why am I on the floor? Why did I have this sense of dread in my gut that made me want to vomit? Why does my husband’s touch make that feeling worse?

The momentary confusion began to fade as I detangled myself out of our position.

“Careful, careful,” he said, hovering beside me as I used the cupboards as leverage to stand.

That’s when I realised I should have just stayed on the fucking ground.

My gaze caught on the incriminating letter, innocently placed on the kitchen bench as if the printed page hadn’t just ripped me apart.

That’s right. That’s why I was on the floor.

Nico went to reach for me, and I flinched. He tried again, and I just couldn’t.

Couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t touch him. Couldn’t hear him.

I didn’t want to.