Part 3The Unsigned Indenture

Two in the morning.

A muffled thud came from his mother’s room.

I shot up from my bed on pure instinct and rushed next door.

I called for Aidan. His room was empty.

He had probably gone to the cemetery in the middle of the night to visit his beloved late wife again.

His mother was having a seizure. Her body convulsed like a fish out of water, white foam frothing at her lips, her eyes rolling back in her head.

Turn her on her side, clear her airway, prevent her from biting her tongue, apply pressure to the philtrum.

I had performed this routine for eight years. It was as familiar as breathing.

Once she had calmed a little, I hoisted the 130-pound woman onto my back.

I only weigh ninety pounds.

But I carried her down three flights of stairs, step by agonizing step, my calves trembling.

I called a cab and went straight to the hospital.

I tried calling Aidan on the way. No answer.

I had to send him a text.

At the emergency room, I registered her, found a doctor, and wheeled her to get a CT scan.

I was in my pajamas and slippers, my hair a mess, my clothes still stained with vomit.

This was my life.

"Where's the family? Someone needs to go pay." The doctor glanced at my attire, hesitating. "You're… the caregiver, right? Can you contact a direct relative?"

"I'm her…"

"I'm her son!"

The sound of hurried footsteps came from behind me.

Aidan had finally arrived.

He was in a crisp suit, his hair perfectly coiffed. I could even smell his cologne.

It was called "Encounter," supposedly Evelyn's favorite.

He, so refined and elegant, and I, so disheveled and pathetic, looked like we belonged to two different species.

The doctor’s face immediately broke into a smile. "Ah, Professor Croft! You're such a devoted son, rushing over in the middle of the night."

Aidan smiled modestly, a perfect picture of a cultured, scholarly gentleman.

After the doctor left, he finally turned and saw me.

The smile vanished, replaced by his usual look of reproach.

"What happened? Why did she suddenly have an episode? Did you feed her the wrong thing for dinner? What kind of care are you providing?"

His voice wasn't loud, but it was clear enough for everyone nearby to hear.

That was his logic.

If she was sick, it was my fault.

If she was well, it was his devotion.

I didn't say a word. I just silently lifted his mother from the gurney to the hospital bed, adjusted her pillow, and pulled the covers over her.

Aidan just stood there and watched.

Since the day I'd moved in, he hadn't done a single household chore. He hadn't even poured his own mother a glass of water.

Because, as he said, that was my job.

The woman in the next bed couldn't help but chime in. "Wow, this lady is amazing, so quick and capable. You must be the family's caregiver, right? So professional. I wish I could find someone like you."

My hand, which was wiping his mother's mouth, froze.

Aidan paused.

I just looked at him.

Waiting. Hoping he would say, "This is my wife," or at least just brush off the comment.

But after three seconds of silence, Aidan nodded and said flatly, "Yes. She's very professional."

Boom.

The last thread of sanity in my mind snapped completely.

Those three seconds of silence were a million times more cruel than his insults.

They murdered the last shred of unrealistic hope I had for him. They murdered all eight years of my devotion.

I threw the towel I was holding at him.

"As of right now, I officially quit. You can take care of her yourself!"

I turned and walked away.

Aidan hissed at my back, "Linda! Have you lost your mind? This is a hospital!"

I didn't look back. I just walked faster.

It wasn't until I stepped out of the hospital doors and the cold wind hit my face that I realized it was covered in tears.

But my heart felt lighter than it had in years.