«You’ve always been a burden,» the husband said in front of the doctors.
«Margaret, love, leave those IVs for nowyouve been at it for three hours! Go home, you can finish in the morning,» the head of the medical ward paused in the doorway, watching the elderly nurse methodically sorting through vials. «Your Geoffrey must be waiting for you.»
«My Geoffrey stopped waiting for me thirty years ago, and hes just fine,» Margaret chuckled, though her hands never stilledchecking, sorting, arranging into trays. «Dont worry, Dr. Harrison, Ill be done soon. I just want everything ready for the morning rounds.»
The doctor shook his head but didnt argueafter forty years in the hospital, Margaret had earned the right to do things her way. Her precision, attention, and dedication were legendary in the ward.
«Oh, before I forget,» he said, turning back, «that patient in Room Seven was asking for you. Emily Thompson. Said you promised her some drops.»
«Oh, goodness, youre right!» Margaret clapped a hand to her forehead. «It completely slipped my mind. She hasnt been sleeping well, poor thing. I told her Id bring Dr. Clarkes prescription.»
«Right, sort that out and then go home,» the doctor said firmly. «Or else your Geoffrey will ring me tomorrow, complaining Im overworking you.»
Margaret laughed. «He wont. He never got the hang of mobiles. Says hes too old for these modern contraptions.»
Once he left, she finished the IVs and headed to Room Seven. There, by the window, lay a woman in her fiftiesthin, worn down, with premature silver streaks in her chestnut hair. Despite her illness, there was quiet dignity in her eyes, and something elsea hidden sorrow.
«Emily, you were looking for me? Sorry, I got caught up,» Margaret said, perching on the edge of the bed. «How are you feeling?»
«Better, thank you,» Emily smiled faintly. «The breathlessness is nearly gone. But I still cant sleep at nightjust thoughts, endless thoughts…»
«Thats the nerves,» Margaret nodded. «After an operation like yours, the body needs time. Here, Ive brought those drops the doctor prescribed. Twenty drops in half a glass of water before bed.»
«Thank you,» Emily took the bottle. «Youre always so kind. I havent met many people like you.»
Something in her voice made Margaret look closer.
«Are you all right? I dont mean your health. Does anyone visit you?»
«My daughter comes,» Emily said. «Shes lovely, very caring. But she lives far away, cant always get here. And my husband…» she hesitated, «hes busy. Work keeps him occupied.»
Margaret frowned but said nothing. Years in the job had taught her to hear what patients left unsaid. Something here wasnt right.
«You know what,» she decided suddenly, «let me brush your hair. Its beautiful, but its tangled. Youre still too weak to manage, and theres little enough comfort in hospital.»
Without waiting, she took a comb from the bedside drawer and began gently working through the strands. Emily stiffened at first, then relaxed under the soothing rhythm.
«My mother used to brush my hair,» Emily murmured. «Said it was the best cure for sadness. I did the same for my daughter when she was little. But my husband…» she trailed off.
«What about him?» Margaret prompted softly.
«He called it nonsense,» Emily said after a pause. «Said long hair was just extra work. That with my bad back, I should keep it shortmore practical. But I refused… in this, at least.»
«Good for you,» Margaret nodded. «A womans hair is her strength. Men dont understand.»
They lapsed into quiet. Margaret finished combing and began braiding Emilys hair.
«Tell me about yourself,» Emily asked. «Do you have a big family? You mentioned your husband…»
«Not much of one,» Margaret chuckled. «Just me and my Geoffrey. Our sons in Canada, shows us the grandkids on video calls every few years. Otherwise, its just the two of us. Forty-five years togetherhard to believe!»
«Forty-five…» Emily echoed. «David and I will have been married thirty-two this year. If I make it.»
«Dont say such things!» Margaret exclaimed. «Of course you will. The operation went well, your tests are improving. Youve got years yetgrandchildren to spoil.»
«David doesnt want grandchildren,» Emily said quietly. «Says Im trouble enough without adding more.»
Margarets hands stilled. Something in Emilys tone made her chest tighten.
«Emily,» she began carefully, «does your husband always… speak to you like that?»
A long silence. Then a slow exhale.
«Not always. When we were young, he was different. Attentive. Brought me flowers, told me I was beautiful. Then… I got ill. My spine started giving me troubletrapped nerve, constant pain. Had to leave my job. And David… he changed. Resented my complaints, the medicines, that I couldnt keep the house as before.»
Margaret gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
«At first, I thought it was stresswork, money. Then I hoped things would improve once our daughter grew up. But she left for uni, and it only got worse. I became… a burden. Thats his word for me. Youre a burden, Emily. Nothing but trouble and expense.»
«The nerve!» Margaret burst out. «And you just put up with it?»
«What choice do I have?» Emily shrugged. «Where would I go? No one will hire me with my back. My pensions barely enough. My daughters starting her own lifeI cant drag her down with my problems. So I stay. Try not to be too much trouble.»
Margaret tied off the braid and sat facing Emily.
«Emily, love, you cant live like this. A husband should stand by you in sickness, not throw it in your face. Thirty-two years together, raising a daughterdoesnt he see you didnt choose to be ill?»
«David says its my fault,» Emily looked away. «That I ate wrong, didnt exercise enough, sat poorly at my desk when I worked. And the cost of treatments… I try to cut corners, skip medicines. Then this operationhe was furious at the bills.»
«Wait,» Margaret frowned. «But the surgery was covered by the NHS.»
«The operation, yes,» Emily nodded. «But the scans, the brace, the rehabit all adds up. Moneys tight with the mortgage, his car payments…»
«Let me guessthe cars his?» Margaret raised a brow.
«Of course,» Emily gave a joyless smile. «He needs it for work. Hes the breadwinner.»
Margaret opened her mouth, but a young nurse hurried in.
«Margaret, your husbands on the phone at the desk. Says its urgent.»
«Geoffrey? On the phone?» Margaret blinked. «Must be serious. Right, Emily, Ill pop off. Dont forget those drops.»
Out in the corridor, she spotted Dr. Clarke speaking with a well-dressed man in his fiftiespolished shoes, an expensive watch, the bearing of someone used to command.
«I need a prognosis,» the man was saying. «How long before shes functional? When can she come home?»
«Recovery takes time,» Dr. Clarke explained patiently. «At least a month here, then home rest. Initially, shell need full-time carehelp moving, bathing…»
«Full-time?» The mans lip curled. «Ive a business to run. Cant we speed things up? Extra treatments, perhaps?»
«Bodies dont work on schedules,» Dr. Clarke said evenly. «You could hire a carer. Or family might assist?»
«Carers cost money,» the man snapped. «No family nearbyour daughters in Manchester.»
Margaret picked up the phone, ears burning.
«Geoffrey?»
«Love, when are you home?» His voice was strained. «The boilers acting up, the engineers hereneeds the homeowner present.»
«Twenty minutes,» she said. «Put the kettle on, Im famished.»
Hanging up, she couldnt help overhearing the mans rising impatience.
«Doctor, Ill speak to my wife myself. She lacks… motivation at times.»
Dr. Clarke straightened.
«Mrs. Thompsons recovering from major spinal surgery. Shes pushing herself as hard as is safe.»
«Just take me to her.»
They moved toward Room Seven, Margaret trailing uneasily. Something about the man set her on edge.
Inside, Emily was struggling to sit up. Seeing her husband, she froze.
«David? You came?»
«Obviously.» He lingered by the door. «Your doctor says youll be lounging here indefinitely.»
«Im doing the exercises,» she said quietly.
«Not well enough,» he scoffed. «Do you grasp what this is costing? Ive taken three days off alreadyfetching your things, signing forms. And these endless pills you demand…»
«I dont demand»
«just bleed me dry. Shouldve seen a GP sooner instead of moaning till it got this bad.»
Dr. Clarke cleared his throat. «Spinal conditions often»
«Ive known my wife thirty-two years,» David cut in. «Always putting things offher job, parenting, now her health. Consequences catch up, surprise surprise.»
Emilys fingers twisted the blanket.
«Please, David, not now. I am getting better. I wont… be in your way long.»
«My way?» He laughed coldly. «Emily, youve been in my way for years. First the postnatal depression, then the migraines, now this. Our marriage is me carrying your dead weight.»
Silence. Dr. Clarkes jaw tightened. Margaret stepped forward.
«Sir,» she said sharply, «this is a hospital. That woman just had surgery. Show some decencyif not to your wife, then to this place.»
David turned, noticing her for the first time.
«And you are?»
«Margaret Whitmore, senior nurse,» she said crisply. «Leave now, or Ill have you escorted out.»
«This is my wife»
«whose care we dictate here,» Dr. Clarke said firmly. «Youll return when you can behave.»
Davids gaze flicked between them, then to Emily, still hunched in silence.
«Fine,» he spat. «Coddle her. But Emily» he pointed at her, «when youre home, dont expect nursemaids. Deal with yourself.»
The door slammed behind him.
Emily wiped her eyes but managed a frail smile.
«Sorry about that. Hes… not usually so harsh. Just stressed.»
Dr. Clarke and Margaret exchanged a look.
«Emily,» the doctor said gently, «does he often speak to you this way?»
«Oh, no! Its just… work pressures, and now my surgery…»
«Thats no excuse,» Margaret said firmly. «No man has the right to speak to his wife like thatleast of all when shes ill.»
«You dont understand,» Emily whispered. «Ive nowhere to go. I depend on himfinancially, physically. My daughters just starting out; I cant burden her.»
Dr. Clarke sat beside her.
«There are shelters. Support services. This could constitute emotional abuse.»
«Abuse?» Emily shook her head. «Hes never hit me. Just… words. And exhaustion. Thirty-two years is a long time.»
Margaret took her hand.
«Love, not all long marriages look like this. Geoffrey and I have had our rows, but neverneverwould he call me a burden on my sickbed. Thats not stress. Thats cruelty.»
«But what can I do?»
«Focus on healing,» Dr. Clarke said. «While youre here, well explore options.»
Before leaving, Margaret gave Emily the sleeping drops.
«You know,» she said softly, «when I first met Geoffrey, he was just as proud as your David. Thought the sun rose at his nod. Then I fell illpneumonia, terribly bad. He stayed up nights, made soups, changed compresses. Thats when I knew he was a real man. Not one who flatters you in health, but stands by you in sickness.»
«You were lucky,» Emily murmured.
«No,» Margaret corrected. «I chose wisely. And you still can choosenot another man, but a different life. Without the scorn, without the guilt. Think on it.»
That evening, Margaret told Geoffrey everything over tea. He listened, his weathered face darkening.
«Absolute rotter,» he grumbled. «How do blokes like that sleep at night?»
«Beats me,» Margaret sighed. «But seeing it… makes me grateful for you, every day.»
Geoffrey reddened, scratching his stubble.
«Ah, get on. Im just an old codger.»
«The best codger,» she smiled, squeezing his hand.
Meanwhile, in Room Seven, Emily lay awake despite the drops. She replayed Davids words, the thirty-two years with a man who saw her as dead weight. Wondered how many more she could endure. And for the first time in years, a quiet, stubborn thought took root: that perhaps it wasnt too late to change.
