The white overheard light suddenly came on, the florescent instantly illuminating the operating room in bright white light that was almost dazzling. The surgeons, nurses and everyone else in the medical team who were used to working with the light had instinctively squinted their eyes because of it.
But the patient, a frail pale-looking woman still in her early twenties who was laying on the bed directly under the overhead lights with only a distance of a few inches from her head did not even flutter her eyelashes or make even the smallest eye movement in instinctual reaction because the part that controlled instinct in her brain had been greatly impaired by a series of lumps.
A nurse was about to put her under anesthesia, but one of the surgeons stopped her. "Wait a minute. Let us go over this with the patient again one more time." He said. "Ms Rollings, like I said before, this is a very risky surgery with less than fifty percent success rate. You can survive it,
but you will be in a comatose state after. You might even become vegetative. If and when that happens, there is nothing that we can do. Do you still want to continue?"
"Yes." The woman answers weakly, "Please go ahead with it." She was ready for whatever would happen. It made no difference to her if she manages to make it out of the surgery alive like the first person who had it before her, or die. She had no expectations for a long and healthy life since she was eighteen when she was told that she might not make it past twenty-four. Only after hearing and confirming her response did the operating surgeon allow for her to be put under. "Ma'am, I'm about to administer anesthesia. It would put you into a deep, dreamless sleep." The nurse explained to her, "Please do a count of one to ten for me. Can you do that?"
The woman barely nodded before starting to count, an oxygen mask was fixed on her nose just then, it was infused with the anesthesia and immediately started to take effect, making her drowsy. "One. . .Two. . .Three. . F. our. . ." Her vision was getting blurry and blurrier. The aged, baritone voice of the operating surgeon sounded distant when he asked for a scalpel.
Callista struggled to listen to what was said after that before it all went dark. And that was her vision, because her mind was still pretty much awake with imagined memories of a daughter she could have had. Callista had planned to name her Marcella—the strong one. She picked the name because of its meaning. Not wanting her child to be weak and sickly like her.
Then came the cold face of her husband—well, former husband now as she had made sure to sign the divorce papers like he had always wanted before she came here to the hospital yesterday. She imagine Ezra Grey being overjoyed and happy with his love—Alyssa, the woman he had always wanted. She thought about leaving a letter for him saying goodbye. Not just goodbye out of marriage with him, but also out of his life forever and never to be seen again.
But she decided against it as he would most likely think of her as a liar or that she is overreacting. Perhaps he has even married Alyssa by now. The internet and netizens would go crazy for them like always. They would also bash and mock her to death for being a disgraceful and shameless woman who went after a man who wasn't hers and maliciously trapped him with a pregnancy. Those cruel words would be her eulogy. They must all be happy now.
Afterwards came the thought of her parents. Are they worriedly looking for her right now? Only her mother. She didn't want to push her luck and imagine that her father would too because he never cared nor paid much attention to her because she was going to die anyway. He was like that even before the heartbreaking diagnosis of her illness. But it became worse after. Her family was patriarchal to the very core and as such, her father had only always given way more love and attention to her elder brother because he is the only son and heir, while she—a daughter, was deemed irrelevant compared to him. There wouldn't be much emotional sentiment to her death as it has always been expected.
They will just mindlessly hold a funeral and move on with their lives like she was never part of it. She was happy about her marriage with Ezra Grey even though a great time portion out of the two years they had spent together as a married couple resulted in constant heart shattering and endless sorrowful tears for her.
She did all she could—not to make him love her as he had made it clear to her in hurtful words and actions that he was madly in love with Alyssa and that nothing could change that. She didn't want to be greedy to keep wanting his heart.
So she had given up on him ever loving her. What she hadtried to do was to make him like her even in the slightest bit and be able to tolerate her presence in the same space without freezing it up with glares and an attitude colder than even the coldest winter. She had appeared at his office one time to give him the cake that she had made for his birthday that had been the year they got married. He had given her rules right after he begrudgingly signed their marriage certificate which they did not even go to the City Hall to get themselves. It was brought in by lawyer just like any other document. It had felt like a merger agreement signing between two companies. There had been nothing to connote that it was the beginning of a marriage. A shared life of a husband and wife. The rules came in a written document that she had to sign. A contract. The rules were; That she was his wife in name only. A placeholder was a more fitting word to describe it. And that she had no sort of right whatsoever to appear in public besides him. And that she was never to go close to him at home or at the office or touch him or any of his things. There were untold punishment for breaking those rules. Those rules might have appeared simple, but it was difficult for her not to break them given that she was crazy in love with him.
She went all out to make things work between them. She didn't think too much of the rules and had always tried to initiate contact and conversations whenever he was at their home with her. A place he rarely ever came to and even brought Alyssa along sometimes. Whenever he did that, she really felt like the outsider instead of the legal wife. But he didn't punish her like the contract said whenever she goes into his room to personally clean it and arrange his closet, pick out one of his dark suits, tie, shoes and wristwatch for him to wear to work.
And when she makes him a meal, he didn't shout or cuss her out about doing these things, but he didn't acknowledge them either. But she didn't mind, and kept doing it whenever she had the chance to.
She even truly believed then that things would work out between them eventually. Then came the night of his birthday.