Chapter 3
Colleen stepped out and, seeing the scene, immediately covered her mouth. "Oh my god, Benny! Why did you push her? Bethany, are you okay?"
Her voice sounded panicked, but her eyes showed no emotion at all.
Aiden rushed over from behind and frowned when he saw the blood on the floor.
Then he crouched down.
But he didn't crouch in front of Bethany.
He crouched in front of Benny instead.
"Benny, did you hurt your hands?" Aiden asked.
He took Benny's hand and turned it over, checking for any red marks. Only when he was sure there were none did he finally relax.
Colleen crouched down at the right moment, hugged Benny, and whispered soothingly, "It's okay, sweetie. Mommy's here. Don't be scared."
Benny leaned against Colleen's chest, pointed at Bethany on the floor, and shouted, "You're a lunatic. You belong in a mental hospital!"
Those words seared into Bethany's mind like a red-hot poker.
Mental hospital.
Those two words exploded in her head.
She remembered the white walls, being strapped to a metal bed, and having cold electrodes pressed against her temples.
As the current surged through her skull, her teeth ground into the rubber mouthguard, nearly crushing it.
She couldn't stop herself from shaking.
Her whole body trembled, her teeth rattled, and her fingers clawed at the cracks between the marble tiles.
Her breathing turned rapid, and it felt like a hand was squeezing her chest, twisting it tight.
Aiden stood up, his lips pressed into a hard line as he looked down at her.
"Bethany, control yourself," he said. His voice was icy, completely devoid of warmth. "Weren't you supposed to be cured? If you end up infecting Liam with your issues, you know what will happen."
Bethany hugged herself, trying to hold it together.
She crouched on the floor, forehead pressed to her knees, nails digging into the cold tiles, her whole body trembling like a leaf caught in a storm.
No one reached out to help her.
No one even asked if she needed to see a doctor.
Colleen carried Benny into the living room.
About ten minutes later, a maid appeared with a tray.
On it sat a large glass of water.
"Ms. Nelson said you must be hot from all that walking and this will cool you down," the maid said.
She placed the glass in front of Bethany without a trace of emotion.
The water was icy, the kind of cold that seeped right into one's bones.
For a woman who'd just given birth, drinking something like this could cause uterine cold and cramps at best, or leave her with chronic health issues for the rest of her life.
Bethany stared at the glass, her lips trembling, as if she wanted to say something but couldn't.
Aiden stood a few feet away, hands shoved in his pockets, watching her with a cold, unfeeling gaze.
His eyes said it all: Drink.
Bethany stretched out her hand.
Her hand kept shaking, and when she tried to pick up the glass, some of the water spilled, splashing onto her bloodstained dress.
She raised her head and forced herself to swallow.
The cold slid down her throat and settled in her stomach, the chill biting deep, like an ice pick brutally piercing her gut.
She doubled over, an agonizing cramp twisting from her lower abdomen and spreading through her whole body.
The glass slipped from her trembling hand, hit the tile, and was smashed.
No one cleaned it up.
The maid turned and walked away.
Aiden left too.
From the living room came Colleen's gentle teasing of the baby, along with Benny's clear, ringing laughter.
Bethany was left sprawled alone on the cold entryway floor, blood and water pooling together beneath her, spreading across the tiles.
She had no idea how long she lay there before she finally managed to pull herself up.
She made her way, step by painful step, back to the guest room at the very end of the first floor.
That room used to be a storage room, but it was cleared it out so she could live there.
There was no nightstand, no lamp.
The bed was a hard board with a thin sheet spread over it.
The window faced north, so no sunlight ever reached this room, no matter the season.
Bethany closed the door and took off her pants.
The fabric stuck to her torn wound, and when she pulled it off, it ripped away some skin.
She clamped her teeth on the corner of the pillow, her forehead slick with cold sweat.
She pulled a plastic box out from under the bed, containing some sewing needles and thread, iodine, and a bit of gauze.
They were ordinary sewing needles and thread, the kind one would use to fix a shirt.
She poured iodine over the wound, and the pain made her fingers twitch uncontrollably.
Then she picked up a needle and threaded it.
She pushed the needle into her flesh, the dull, dragging pain making her vision blur for a second.
There was no anesthesia.
There never was.
She stitched herself up. She wasn't exactly an expert, but her hands were steady.
She'd stitched herself up too many times already over the last seven years.
When she finished the last stitch, she bit off the thread and wrapped the wound with gauze.
Then she pulled out an old voice recorder from under her pillow.
She pressed the record button.
Bethany leaned back against the headboard, her voice raspy.
She said, "November 17th, 2024, the day I was discharged from the hospital, Benny pushed me in the hallway, and my stitches tore open.
"Aiden didn't ask if I was okay.
"Colleen had the maid bring me ice-cold water. Aiden stood there and watched me drink it.
"Benny called me a lunatic and said I belong in a mental hospital."