Youve always been a burden, the husband said in front of the doctors.
Margaret, love, leave those drips for nowyouve been at it for hours. Go home, you can finish in the morning, the head of the department paused in the doorway, watching the elderly nurse methodically sorting through vials. Your John must be waiting.
My John waited thirty years ago, and hes still kicking, Margaret smiled, but her hands kept movingsorting, checking, arranging the trays. Dont worry, Dr. Thompson, Ill be done soon. Just want everything ready for the morning rounds.
The doctor shook his head but didnt argueafter forty years at the hospital, Margaret had earned the right to do things her way. Her precision and dedication were legendary on the ward.
By the way, he added, turning to leave, that patient in room seven was asking for you. Emily Carter. Said you promised her some drops.
Oh, blimey! Margaret clapped her hands. Completely slipped my mind. Poor dear cant sleep. I told her Id bring Dr. Harriss prescription.
Well, sort that and go home, he said firmly. Or your John will ring me tomorrow, complaining Im working you to the bone.
Margaret chuckled. He wont. Still hasnt figured out how to use his mobile. Says hes too old for those newfangled gadgets.
Once he left, she finished the drips and headed to room seven. There, by the window, lay a woman in her fiftiesthin, frail, with premature silver threading through her light brown hair. Despite her illness, her eyes held quiet dignity and something unspoken.
Emily, love, you wanted me? Sorry, got caught up, Margaret perched on the edge of the bed. How are you feeling?
Better, thanks, the woman gave a faint smile. The wheezings gone. Just cant sleep at night. Too many thoughts.
Thats the nerves, Margaret nodded. Your bodys healing. Here, I brought those dropstwenty in half a glass of water before bed.
Thank you, Emily took the bottle. Youre always so kind. Not many like you in this world.
Something in her voice made Margaret study her more closely.
Everything alright? Not the illnesssomething else. Any visitors?
My daughter comes, Emily said softly. Shes sweet, does her best. But she lives far, cant always get away. And my husband she hesitated, hes busy. Work, you know.
Margaret frowned but stayed silent. Years on the ward had taught her to hear what wasnt said. Something wasnt right.
Tell you what, she decided suddenly, lets sort your hair. Its lovely, but a bit tangled. Youre still weak, and heaven knows theres little comfort in hospital.
Without waiting, she fetched a comb and began gently working through the knots. Emily tensed at first, then relaxed under the rhythmic strokes.
Mum used to do this, Emily murmured. Said it was the best cure for sadness. My daughter and I did the same when she was small. But my husband she trailed off.
What about him? Margaret prompted softly.
Called it nonsense, Emily said after a pause. Said long hair was just extra trouble. That with my bad back, I should cut it shortpractical. But I kept it this one thing, at least.
Good for you, Margaret nodded. Men dont understandhairs a womans strength.
They sat quietly as Margaret braided it loosely.
Tell me about you, Emily asked. Big family? You mentioned your husband
Just me and my John, Margaret chuckled. Our sons in Canada, shows us the grandkids on video every few years. Forty-five years togetherblimey, whered the time go?
Forty-five Emily echoed. Victor and I wouldve been thirty-two this year. If I make it.
Dont say that! Margaret scolded. Youre healing fine. Youll be chasing great-grandkids yet.
Victor doesnt want grandchildren, Emily whispered. Says Im trouble enough as it is.
Margarets hands stilled. Something in Emilys tone made her chest tighten.
Emily, love, she said carefully, does your husband always talk to you like that?
A long silence. Then a shaky breath.
Not always. When we were young, he was different. Brought me flowers, told me I was beautiful. Then I got sick. My spinetrapped nerve, constant pain. Had to quit my job. And Victor he changed. Got angry at the pills, the appointments, that I couldnt keep house like before.
Margaret squeezed her shoulder gently.
At first I thought it was stress. Then hoped itd pass when our daughter grew up. But she left for uni, and it got worse. I became a burden. His word. Youre nothing but trouble, Emily. A drain.
The nerve! Margaret hissed. And you put up with it?
What choice have I? Emily shrugged. Cant work with my back. Pensions peanuts. My girls just starting her lifeI wont saddle her with this. So I stay quiet, try not to bother him.
Margaret finished the braid and sat facing her.
Emily, darling, this isnt living. A husband should stand by you in sickness, not throw it in your face. Thirty-two years togetherdoesnt he see its not your fault?
Victor says it is, Emily looked away. Claims I ate wrong, sat wrong at my desk, didnt exercise. And the costs I skip meds to save. But this surgeryhe was furious at the bills.
Wait, Margaret frowned. But the NHS covered it.
The op, yes, Emily nodded. But scans, the brace, rehab Weve got the mortgage, his car loan
His car, I suppose? Margaret raised a brow.
Of course, Emily gave a hollow laugh. He needs it for work. The breadwinner.
Margaret opened her mouthjust as a young nurse popped in.
Margaret? Your Johns on the phone.
John? On the phone? Margaret blinked. Must be an emergency. Right, Emilydont forget those drops.
In the hall, she spotted Dr. Harris talking to a well-dressed man in his fiftiespolished shoes, Rolex, the air of someone used to giving orders.
I need a timeline, the man said briskly. How long before shes home? I cant take weeks off to play nurse.
Recovery takes time, Dr. Harris said evenly. Shell need helpmobility, hygiene
Help? The man scowled. Ive got a business to run. Cant you speed it up? Extra meds, private therapy?
The body heals at its own pace, Dr. Harris said. You could hire a carer, or perhaps family
Carers cost money, the man cut in. No family nearbyjust our daughter, and shes in Manchester.
Margaret answered the call, ear half on their conversation.
John? Everything alright?
When you coming home, love? Her husband sounded worried. Boilers acting upengineers here, needs the homeowner.
Be there in twenty, she said. Put the kettle on, Im starving.
Hanging up, she caught the mans next words:
Doctor, I need to see my wife. Make her understand shes got to try harder. Shes always been lacking motivation.
Dr. Harris straightened.
Your wife had major spinal surgery. Shes pushing herself. But healing cant be rushed.
Just take me to her.
Margaret followed, uneasy.
In the room, Emily flinched when the man entered.
Victor? You came?
Obviously. He stayed by the door. Your doctor says youll be lazing about for weeks.
Im doing the exercises, Emily said softly.
Not well enough, he snapped. Do you even care what this costs? Ive had to rearrange meetings three times for your needs. And the pills you keep demanding
I dont demand, Emily whispered. Just the essentials.
Oh, very essential, he sneered. You penny-pinched till you needed surgery. I told yousee a doctor before it got bad. But no, you waited. Now its worse.
Dr. Harris cleared his throat.
Spinal conditions arent
Ive known my wife thirty-two years, Victor said coldly. Always procrastinatingwork, parenting, now her health.
Emily stared at her lap, fingers twisting the sheet.
Victor, please, she murmured. Not now. Ill be home soon, out of your way.
My way? He laughed harshly. Emily, youve always been a burden. First the postnatal depression, then the migraines, now this. Our marriage is me carrying your dead weight.
Silence. Dr. Harriss jaw tightened. Margaret stepped forward.
Sir, she said crisply, this is a hospital. Your wife just had surgery. Show some respectif not to her, then to this ward.
Victor turned, noticing her for the first time.
And you are?
Margaret Jones, senior nurse. And Ill ask you to leave if you cant speak civilly.
Shes my wife
Visiting hours apply to manners too, Margaret cut in. Youre upsetting the patient.
I wont be lectured by a nurse!
And I wont have patients bullied, Dr. Harris said firmly. Leave. Come back when youve calmed down.
Victor glared, then at Emily.
Fine. But remember, Emilyno carers at home. Sort yourself out.
The door slammed.
Emily wiped her eyes.
Im sorry you saw that. Hes not always works stressful.
Stress isnt an excuse, Margaret said.
Dr. Harris sat beside Emily.
There are resourcesshelters, rehab centers. This could qualify as emotional abuse.
Abuse? Emily shook her head. Hes never hit me. Just words. Thirty-two yearsit wears on people.
Margaret took her hand.
Love, thirty-two years shouldnt look like this. My John and Ive had rows, sure. But calling you a burden in hospital? Thats not stressthats cruelty.
What can I do? Emily whispered.
Heal first, Dr. Harris said. Well help you find options.
Before leaving, Margaret gave Emily the drops.
My John was a right stubborn git when we met, she said softly. Thought the sun rose just for him. Then I got pneumoniaproper poorly. Stayed up nights, made soup, carried me to the loo. Thats when I knew he was a keeper. Not the sweet talkthe staying.
Youre lucky, Emily said.
Not luck, Margaret corrected. Choice. And youve still got choices, love. Think on that.
At home, Margaret told John everything. Her husbandstocky, face lined like an old oakshook his head.
Bloody monster, he muttered. Hows that poor woman stood it?
I dont know, Margaret sighed, pouring tea. But John seeing men like him makes me grateful for you.
John flushed, scratching his stubble.
Ah, go on. Im just an old duffer.
My duffer, she smiled, patting his hand. Best one there is.
Meanwhile, in room seven, Emily lay awake despite the drops. She thought of Victors words. Thirty-two years of being called a burden. And for the first time in years, a small, stubborn thought took rootthat maybe, just maybe, it wasnt too late to change things.
