«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 hours! Go home, you can finish in the morning,» Dr. Thompson, the head of the ward, paused in the doorway, watching the elderly nurse sort through vials with practiced efficiency. «Your John must be wondering where you are.»
«My John waited thirty years ago and still hasnt learned patience,» Margaret chuckled, but her hands never stoppedchecking, sorting, arranging. «Dont fret, Dr. Thompson, Ill be done soon. Just want everything ready for the morning rounds.»
He shook his head but didnt argueafter forty years at the hospital, Margaret had earned the right to work at her own pace. Her meticulousness and dedication were the stuff of legends in the ward.
«Oh, before I forget,» he added, turning to leave, «that patient in Room Seven was asking for you. Elizabeth Carter. Said you promised her some drops?»
«Oh, goodness, I nearly forgot!» Margaret clapped a hand to her forehead. «Poor dear hasnt been sleeping. I told her Id bring Dr. Harrisons prescription.»
«Right, sort that out and then go home,» he said firmly. «Else your John will be ringing me tomorrow, complaining Im overworking you.»
Margaret laughed. «Not a chance. He still hasnt figured out how to use his mobile. Says hes too old for all these newfangled gadgets.»
Once hed gone, she finished with the IVs and headed to Room Seven. There, by the window, lay a woman in her fiftiesthin, worn, with premature silver streaking her light brown hair. Despite her illness, her eyes held a quiet dignity and a buried sorrow.
«Elizabeth, love, you were looking for me? Sorry, got caught up,» Margaret perched on the edge of the bed. «How are you feeling?»
«Better, thank you,» Elizabeth murmured with a faint smile. «The wheezings eased. But nightsI cant sleep. Too many thoughts…»
«Thats the nerves,» Margaret nodded. «After an op like yours, your body needs time. Herethe drops Dr. Harrison prescribed. Twenty in half a glass of water before bed.»
«Thank you,» Elizabeth took the bottle. «Youre always so kind. I havent met many people like you.»
Something in her voice made Margaret study her more closely.
«Everything alright, love? I dont mean health-wise. Does anyone visit?»
«My daughter comes when she can,» Elizabeth said. «Shes sweet, does her best. But shes far awaycant always get time off. And Robert… my husband… hes busy. Work keeps him.»
Margaret frowned but said nothing. Years on the ward had taught her to hear what patients left unsaid. And something here wasnt right.
«Tell you what,» she said suddenly, «let me brush your hair. Its lovely, but its all tangled. Youre still too weak to manage, and goodness knows theres little enough comfort in hospitals.»
Without waiting, she fetched a comb from the bedside drawer and began gently working through the knots. Elizabeth tensed at first, then relaxed under the steady, soothing strokes.
«My mum used to do this,» Elizabeth said softly. «Said it was the best cure for sadness. I did the same for my daughter when she was little. But Robert… he…»
«But Robert what?» Margaret prompted gently.
«Robert called it nonsense,» Elizabeth finally replied after a long pause. «Said long hair was just extra work. That with my bad back, I should keep it shortpractical. But I kept it… one small rebellion.»
«Good for you,» Margaret smiled. «Men dont understand. Hairs a womans strength.»
They sat quietly as Margaret finished and began braiding.
«Tell me about you,» Elizabeth asked. «Family?»
«Oh, hardly a crowd,» Margaret chuckled. «Just me and my John. Our sons in Canadawe see the grandkids on video calls once in a blue moon. Forty-five years together, can you believe it?»
«Forty-five…» Elizabeth echoed. «Robert and I wouldve made thirty-two this year. If I make it.»
«Dont say that!» Margaret scolded. «Youll be right as rain. The op went well, your tests are improving. Youll be bouncing grandbabies yet.»
«Robert doesnt want grandchildren,» Elizabeth whispered. «Says Im trouble enough. More would be the death of him.»
Margarets hands stilled. Something in Elizabeths tone made her chest tighten.
«Elizabeth, love,» she said carefully, «does your husband always… speak to you like that?»
A long silence. Then a shaky breath.
«Not always. When we were young, he was different. Kind. Brought flowers, said sweet things. Then… I got ill. My spinetrapped nerve, constant pain. Had to quit work. And Robert… he changed. Snapped at me for complaining, for the meds, for not keeping house like before.»
Margaret gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
«At first, I thought it was stresswork, bills. Then I hoped when our daughter left, itd ease. But shes grown now, gone to uni, and its worse. Ive become… a burden. Thats his word. Youre a burden, Elizabeth. Nothing but trouble.»
«The nerve!» Margaret couldnt help herself. «And you put up with it?»
«What choice have I?» Elizabeth shrugged. «Where would I go? No one hires women with bad backs, my pensions peanuts. My girls just starting outI cant saddle her with this. So I stay. Try not to rock the boat.»
Margaret finished the braid and sat facing her.
«Elizabeth, darling, this isnt living. A husband should stand by you in sickness, not throw it in your face. Thirty-two years, raising a childdoes he really blame you for his own failings?»
«Robert says its my fault,» Elizabeth wouldnt meet her eyes. «That I ate wrong, didnt exercise, sat poorly at my desk. And the costs… I try to save, skip meds sometimes. But this ophe was furious at the price.»
«Wait,» Margaret frowned. «But the NHS covered the surgery?»
«The surgery, yes,» Elizabeth nodded. «But the scans, the brace, rehabit adds up. Weve got the mortgage, his car payments…»
«His car, I suppose?» Margaret raised a brow.
«Of course,» Elizabeth gave a joyless laugh. «He needs it for work. Hes the breadwinner.»
Margaret opened her mouthbut just then, a young nurse popped her head in.
«Margaret, your husbands on the phone for you. At the desk.»
«John? On the phone?» She blinked. «Must be important. Right, Elizabeth, Ill dash. Dont forget those drops.»
Outside, she spotted Dr. Harrison speaking to a well-dressed man in his fiftiespolished shoes, Rolex, the rigid posture of someone used to giving orders.
«I need a timeline,» the man was saying. «How long before shes functional? When can she come home?»
«Recovery takes time,» Dr. Harrison replied patiently. «A month here, then home carehelp moving, bathing…»
«Home care?» The mans nose wrinkled. «Ive got a business to run. Cant we speed this up? Extra physio, private treatments?»
«You cant rush healing,» Dr. Harrison said. «But you could hire a carer. Or family might step in?»
«Carers cost money,» the man snapped. «No family nearbyjust our daughter, and shes in Edinburgh.»
Margaret picked up the phone, trying not to eavesdrop.
«John? Everything alright?»
«Margaret, when are you home?» Johns voice was strained. «The boilers acting upengineers here, needs the homeowner.»
«Be there in twenty,» she said. «Put the kettle on, Im starving.»
Hanging up, she couldnt help overhearing the mans rising irritation.
«Doctor, Ill speak to my wife myself. She needs to push harder. Shes… lacking motivation.»
Dr. Harrison stiffened.
«Your wife had major spinal surgery. Shes doing everything asked of her.»
«Just take me to her,» the man demanded.
Margaret followed, uneasy.
In the room, Elizabeth was struggling to sit up. Seeing her husband, she froze.
«Robert? You came?»
«Obviously,» he stayed by the door. «Your doctor says youll be lounging here indefinitely.»
«Im trying,» she said weakly. «Doing all the exercises.»
«Not hard enough,» he scoffed. «Do you even know what this is costing me? Third time Ive left work for you. And the meds you keep demanding»
«I dont demand,» Elizabeths voice was small. «I take whats needed. Ive cut back»
«Cut back?» He laughed coldly. «You cut back till you needed surgery. How many times did I say see a doctor? But notoo expensive. Now its worse.»
Dr. Harrison cleared his throat.
«Spinal conditions arent»
«Ive known my wife thirty-two years, Doctor,» Robert cut in. «Shes always been like thisputs things off till theyre crises. Her job, our daughter, now this.»
Elizabeth gripped the sheets, silent.
«Robert, please,» she finally whispered. «Not now. I am getting better. I wont be a bother long.»
«A bother?» He smirked. «Elizabeth, youve always been a burden. First the post-natal depression, then the migraines, now this. Our whole marriageme carrying you.»
The room went still. Dr. Harrisons jaw tightened. Margaret stepped forward.
«Sir,» she said sharply, «this is a hospital. Your wife just had major surgery. Show some respectif not for her, then for this place.»
Robert turned, noticing her for the first time.
«And you are?»
«Margaret Walker. Senior nurse. And Im asking you to leave if you cant be civil.»
«This is my wife»
«Visiting hours exist for a reason,» she interrupted. «Youre upsetting a patient.»
His face reddened. «I wont be lectured by a nurse!»
«And I wont tolerate abuse in my ward,» Dr. Harrison said firmly. «Come back when youve calmed down.»
Robert glared at them, then at Elizabeth.
«Fine,» he spat. «But dont expect carers at home, Elizabeth. Youll manage alone.»
The door slammed behind him.
Silence. Then Elizabeth wiped her eyes.
«Im sorry you saw that. Hes not usually… works stressful.»
Dr. Harrison and Margaret exchanged glances.
«Elizabeth,» Dr. Harrison said gently, «does he often speak to you this way?»
«Oh, no,» she forced a smile. «Just… a rough patch. Work troubles, then my op…»
«Thats no excuse,» Margaret said firmly. «No man should speak to his wife like thatleast of all when shes ill.»
«You dont understand,» Elizabeth whispered. «Ive nowhere to go. I depend on himmoney, everything. My daughters just starting outI cant burden her.»
Dr. Harrison sat beside her.
«There are servicesshelters, rehab centres. And… this could be considered abuse.»
«Abuse?» She shook her head. «Hes never hit me. Just… words. And stress. Thirty-two yearsits not simple.»
Margaret took her hand.
«Love, not all long marriages look like this. John and Iweve had rows, sure. But to call your wife a burden on her sickbed? Thats not stress. Thats cruelty.»
«But what can I do?» Elizabeths voice broke.
«First, heal,» Dr. Harrison said. «While youre here, well help you plan.»
Later, as Margaret helped her settle, she said,
«You know, my John was just as proud when we met. Thought the sun shone out his backside. Then I got pneumoniabad. He stayed up nights, made soup, changed compresses. Thats when I knew he was a real man. Not one for pretty words when its easyone who stays when its hard.»
«You were lucky,» Elizabeth said softly.
«No, love,» Margaret corrected. «I chose right. And you can still choosenot a new man, but a new life. Without the shame, without the guilt. Think on it.»
That evening, over tea, Margaret told John everything. He listened, shaking his head.
«Bloody monster,» he muttered. «How do men like that sleep at night?»
«I dont know,» Margaret sighed. «But hearing such things… it makes me grateful for you.»
John flushed, rubbing his stubbled chin.
«Ah, stop. Im just an old bloke.»
«No,» she squeezed his hand. «Youre the best of men.»
Meanwhile, in Room Seven, Elizabeth lay awakedrops forgotten. She thought of Roberts words, of thirty-two years with a man who saw her as dead weight. Of how much longer she could bear it.
And for the first time in years, a quiet, stubborn hope flickered in her chest
Maybe it wasnt too late to change.
