Hospital “The Union”

Five months ago, she left.

The house is a mess. I keep the shades drawn. She said she needed space and I tried to be understanding about it.

The police came to my house two days ago. I knew before they even got to the door what they wanted. They weren't approaching like I did something wrong, so I half listened and followed them to the hospital. I didn't want to think, and I am surprised I made the drive at all. She was there, and though she was in anguish, she seemed happy to see me. I tried not to touch her though.

The skin grafts were brand new.

She said that she had talked to him and that he had been quite clear with her.

“He needed you, and you abandoned him.”

The police found her after getting an anonymous tip.

She was at a local factory. He didn't knock her out like he had the others.

She was awake for the entire thing.

I think he just wanted to punish her.

They ran DNA tests on the flesh he had attached. They aren't sure who the flesh originally belonged to. They are going through missing person reports. However, they did comment that he had matched her blood type and that there were antibiotics in her system.

I left the room and vomited. The hospital people were understanding. So was she, yet I can't really wrap my head around all this. Everything about this is out of character. Everything is wrong.

Why is he so invested in me? First there was the record he gave me. Pachelbel's Canon in D, and now this. She didn't deserve this. She didn't need this. She had done the right thing by leaving me.

Hadn't she?

I didn't protect her. I couldn't protect her. What kind of man let's something like this happen to his wife?

They have assigned her a therapist. My therapist to be exact. They figure that because of his experience with me, that he would be better able to treat her. That's fair, considering my history.

He suggested that after a few sessions, that we should have our sessions together. So what way there wouldn't be any secrets between us. I'm not sure if I am okay with that. There are things only he knows. There are things that only I know, that I have never told anyone. But I need to be stronger than before. I need to be better for her.

I wanted her to come back.

But I didn't want it like this.

The psychologist increased my medicine just in case. He knew that there was a chance that this would cause me to relapse. He was right. The nightmares have started again. I had a dream that my first wife was in the hospital with Margaret. She was holding her hand while rocking in a chair next to her bed. As she moved, her bones groaned and the stitches shifted and tore.

I wonder if my kids should see her. It is probably best that they don't for now.

I have taken some sick days to stay with her in the hospital. My boss understood. Said I should take all the time I need, but that eventually I would have to go back to work. I don't like it, the idea of leaving her here alone. But I couldn't help the first time. Why would this time be any different?

The local priest came and visited today. Said that the congregation had us in their prayers. He delivered communion for her. She had trouble with the wafer. The new tongue isn't the same size as her previous one.

She is still getting used to it.

The doctors aren't sure if they should remove the grafts The Surgeon had added, or if they should keep them in place. I insisted they should remove them, but they tell me that finding donors isn't that easy. It's up to her.

I hate hospitals. The smell. The crying. But Margaret isn't feeling well, and I will do what I can to help her feel comfortable.

I brought Margaret a few of her favorite books to read. She hasn't read them much. She mostly sleeps. The pain is tremendous. Sometimes I read to her. She seems to like that, to have someone else talk for a while.

Talking for her has become quite taxing.

I keep thinking about what that woman had said. That Unknown Author. She had warned me. She had tried to tell me that I should have stayed away.

Is this my fault? Did I cause Margaret to get attacked by reporting again? I know that those sort of thoughts don't help the situation, but it is hard not to think that way. Even if the thought is irrational, it is hard for me to just ignore the idea and try to focus on other things.

I put on the radio for her. The TV is too much strain on her eyes for now.

It is getting colder outside. The leaves are changing colors and people are decorating their houses. I even saw a few pumpkins out already, though they will be rotten by Halloween. The drive home is relaxing somewhat. All the leaves on the trees are turning an orange-yellow color.

I love it. Just a long archway made of leaves. In the morning, when there is dew on the ground and the air is crisp, it is breathtaking.

I need those sort of moments more often than not.

Her favorite book is “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.”