The Second Marriage Chance

Philip

In the quiet embrace of the Henderson night, nestled amidst the desert’s whispers, lies the serene sanctuary of the Henderson Memorial Clinic. Bathed in the gentle glow of moonlight, its modern facade exudes a tranquil aura, inviting those needing healing to find solace within its walls.

I’m trailing behind the two bodyguards as we walk down the hallway toward the ward where Nurse Samantha Hayes is assigned. She’s the same nurse assigned to the OB-Gyne department when my mother brought Sarah last year while in Highland Hills.

“Excuse me, we’re looking for Nurse Samantha Hayes,” one of my bodyguards addressed the nurse at the station.

The nurse eyed us with suspicion, likely due to our imposing presence. “May I inquire as to who they are?” she questioned, her tone wary.

With a reassuring smile, my bodyguard responded, “My mother was hospitalized last year, and Nurse Hayes took care of her. It was at Highland Hills. We just wanted to check in on her at my mother’s request.”

“Ah, I see,” the nurse nodded, seeming to relax. “She’s gone to the canteen for lunch.”

“Thank you!” my bodyguard acknowledged graciously, and without further delay, we proceeded towards the canteen. Navigating through the corridors, we quickly located the canteen with the assistance of a few directions from passing staff.

Upon entering, our eyes landed on a petite woman in scrubs seated alone at a table. She’s engrossed in something on her mobile phone, a headset covering her ears, oblivious to our approach.

My two bodyguards smoothly claimed the seats adjacent to her, catching her off guard while I settled before her. Fear flashed across her face as she realized she was already cornered. But I swiftly intervened before she could scream or cause a scene.

“Nurse Hayes, rest assured, we have no intention of causing you harm. I have an important question to pose to you.” Without delay, I slid a cash card across the table. “It holds five thousand dollars in exchange for a five-minute conversation. Do we have a deal?”

She hesitated; her eyes flickered from the cash card to me, recognition dawning on her features.

“You’re Philip Cornel!” Shock colored her features.

“I’m pleased you recognize me. In that case, no formal introductions are necessary,” I remarked casually.

“Everyone in Highland Hills knows you! What could you possibly need from me? Why have you come to Henderson? Hasn’t your wife caused me enough trouble already?” she asked as she shivered.

“You were the one who signed Sarah, my wife’s medical records, when she suffered a miscarriage last year. I seek the truth. Did Sarah indeed miscarry, or did Madam Cornell coerce her into terminating the pregnancy?”

“No, please!” Her body trembled with fear, firmly held in place by my two imposing bodyguards. “Please, Mr. Cornel. Find the truth from Madam Cornell or your wife. Spare me from this ordeal. I regret what I did after your wife retaliated.” Tears cascaded down her cheeks as she pleaded.

A surge of confusion washed over me as the words tumbled from my lips. “What did Sarah do to you?”

“She bought up all the land where my family’s house stands just to hike up the rent and manipulate everything to her liking. And then, for months on end, she tormented me with dolls and reminders of her baby,” the nurse explained, her voice trembling with fear.

“It was relentless. I felt like I was losing my mind, unable to focus on anything but her sinister pranks. Eventually, I had no choice but to flee Highland Hills. But her cruelty didn’t end there. Eventually, my family uncovered the true motive behind Sarah Cornell’s torment. My mother passed away upon discovering my actions.”

“What did you do?” I probed, my gaze narrowing in suspicion.

“I merely followed Dr. Smith’s instructions,” the nurse confessed, her voice heavy with guilt. “It turned out she and Madam Cornell were acquainted. The doctor offered me money, knowing full well my mother’s dire need for financial support due to her prolonged illness. Desperate, I agreed to Dr. Smith’s scheme. Last year, your mother took Madam Sarah to the hospital, specifically to Dr. Smith’s clinic. Your mother wanted to confirm if Sarah was pregnant.”

A shiver ran down my spine as the puzzle pieces fell into place.

“Dr. Smith administered Sarah Cornell a sedative before the procedure,” she continued, her words punctuated by my growing horror. “When Madam Cornell learned of your wife’s pregnancy, she wasted no time in arranging for the termination. We reported it as an ectopic pregnancy to expedite the procedure. No one visited Ms. Sarah Cornell at the hospital for three days, leading us to believe she wasn’t-”

I slammed my fist on the table, the wood groaning in protest, fearing the nurse. Anger surged through me, hot and fierce, mingling with the cold grip of despair. Three days. Three days and no one had bothered to check on Sarah. Three days of agony, and I had been thousands of miles away, oblivious to her suffering.

“I’m sorry! Please, Mr. Cornell!” The nurse before me trembled, her voice quivering with fear. “I just followed your mother’s wishes. I couldn’t do anything else.”

Exhaustion weighed heavily upon me, clouding my mind, but I couldn’t afford to succumb to it now. I needed answers and clarity amidst the chaos that surrounded me.

“Why did Madam Cornell want Sarah’s baby gone?” I demanded; my tone icy with fury.

Two possibilities gnawed at my mind: her doubt of the child’s paternity or a far more sinister truth-that I was, in fact, the father. Truth felt like a distance in the haze of uncertainty, slipping through my fingers like grains.

“All I understood from their conversation with the doctor was Sarah Cornell was crazy, and Madam Cornell doesn’t want any further connection with your wife. I only overheard this when another woman from your family arrived. They don’t want trouble involving the baby while there’s a divorce on going… I’m unsure! Please, Mr. Cornell, please spare me…”

I closed my eyes tightly, frustration boiling within me. “Where is Dr. Smith?”

“I don’t know, sir,” came the shaky reply.

After conversing with the nurse, I felt disconnected from myself as I traversed the hospital corridor back to my vehicle. Fear and anger coursed through me, leaving me trembling. Sarah’s inability to forgive me weighed heavily on my mind.

How could I blame her? I was grateful she could bear to face me, though I felt utterly undeserving of her gaze. Yet, amidst my turmoil, a seed of resentment sprouted. How could she keep such crucial information from me, especially as a father? Did she doubt my willingness to support our child?

Instead of disclosing the news about the baby, she opted for a divorce. Does she perceive me as incapable? Recalling my reaction to her deception, forcibly removing her from the villa on our third anniversary, I can’t help but wonder if she felt unsafe with me.

Returning to the hotel, a shroud of melancholy enveloped me as I trudged back to our room. Pouring a drink, I sank into the couch, consumed by regret. After a while, from the bedroom, a rustle broke the silence, and there she stood-Sarah, my wife.

Rising to my feet, I confronted her, my voice trembling with the weight of unanswered questions.

“Why keep the truth from me?” I demanded, my voice laced with frustration.

Confusion clouded her expression. “What truth?” she countered.

I exhaled sharply, the words tumbling from my lips in a rush. “Why didn’t you tell me about the baby? Why opt for a divorce instead? Why keep your pregnancy a secret?” I questioned her, trying to piece together the puzzle that, in my opinion, still had many pieces missing.

To my astonishment, she was just as clueless as I was, and then came the panic attacks.