Authors: Vivienne Harris-Scott
That
was until she met John Milligan.
Their
meeting was a testament to lust at first sight. He was twenty years older than
her, but she found John Milligan captivating and sexy as hell. Kissinger said
power is the ultimate aphrodisiac; it was true in this case.
John
was a good-looking man; about 6'1 tall with a good body and short cut blond
hair. He was married and had two young daughters. His wife was a cute brunette
that looked to be about 5 years above Belinda
’
s age. John was very smooth and
self-assured. His most captivating feature was his green eyes, they were so
intense, and they set whoever they were looking at ablaze. During their first
meet, he flirted constantly with her, and by the end of the evening, they knew
it was only a matter of time before they
’
d fall into a bed. John was in lust with
her but the truth was Belinda was in love with him. That he was married just
made it a little bit dangerous and complicated, but also guaranteed that it
would go nowhere.
When
he kissed her for the first time, the very next day in a room at the Mandarin
Oriental in Boston, his touch sent shivers down her spine and the kisses made
her so hot she could hardly breathe. As he held her tightly, she could feel his
arousal pressing into her. She no longer cared about right and wrong, just this
fire raging inside her.
Right
then and there, she decided John Milligan was hers and never looked back.
Their
affair started and she knew she couldn
’
t and wouldn
’
t live without this man her life.
To
this day John was the only man she knew who could pin her with just one look.
They
continued their affair for a little over four years. They would meet either in
Boston, NYC or LA whichever city they would both be in at the same time, and
then they
’
d
part with no further contact till the next time. It was great and no one found
out.
She
was willing to keep it going until the day she died, she didn
’
t care John would never leave his wife and
family for her. At least, that's what she thought at the time; until she fell
pregnant.
She
had moved to the west coast permanently the previous year as most of her TV
work was shot in LA. She was mildly successful as a TV and commercials actress
and was seriously thinking about settling down with one man. She hadn
’
t met him yet, but she was ready, since
John had made it clear, he would not leave his wife. She still loved him, and
still could not picture her life without him in it, but she needed more. When
her monthly were late by five days, she knew without even taking a test that
she was pregnant and John was the father, since no other man had touched her in
the past four years. She had called him in a panic and told him of her
suspicions; he asked coldly if she needed any money to take care of the
problem. That night she knew, she wouldn
’
t return to Boston anytime soon, and
needed to start planning a future without his presence in it.
She
had no choice but to find a husband for herself and a father for her baby.
She
went to an industry party two days later, and met Julian. He seemed to be
mesmerized by her physique, and seeing his interest in her, she took advantage
of it. When he jokingly told her he was in the market for a wife, she thanked
the Lord and prayed she could make him fall in love with her and marry her
before the pregnancy was visible.
God
heard her and they were married less than two months after meeting. He never
suspected she was pregnant with another man
’
s child. And she never regretted her
decision.
Well,
until that fateful day five months ago when he told her he wanted a divorce and
threw her out.
((~~!~~))
I knew he wasn
’
t pleased to hear from me, but I didn
’
t care about hurting his feelings, or
meddling with his well-oiled life.
I
simply had no other option.
I
had to contact John about my predicament to get his help. The threat of
contacting the tabloids made him decide to help me. The court proceeding would
be sealed as Maddie was still a minor, his life would not be disturbed. I did
not want a penny from him, nor his name, and his political career would not be
affected by the sudden appearance of a love child by a famously married ex-
mistress.
All
I had to do was to be back on US soil, and he would submit a paternity test.
All
I had to do was to get my daughter into the private jet waiting for us.
I
pressed on the speed pedal.
((~~!~~))
Belinda was so deep in thoughts; she didn
’
t see the tanker at the intersection
before she could stop her car.
Suddenly,
her car jerked to the side and she looked to her left to see a tanker crashing
into the passenger's left side of her car, somehow lifting it in the process.
She watched as her daughter was ejected from her car seat and slammed between
the two front seats and then suddenly her car was flipping through the air.
Everything
seemed to go in slow motion as she sat there mindlessly, buckled into the seat,
watching and feeling her car flip, the air bag deploying and compressing her
chest. When the car finally landed hard on the asphalt, bringing the surreal
situation to an abrupt halt, the last gesture she recalled as her head banged
back against the head support of her seat, was looking into the rear-view
mirror seeing her immobile daughter, trapped between the window, her car seat
and an airbag crushing her; Maddie
’
s
body, twisted in an unnatural way. That sight, and the smell of petrol sharply
hitting her nostrils, seemed to make Belinda feel the impact of the shock in
her own body and a horrific scream erupted from her lungs.
Then
everything went black.
((~~!~~))
Belinda was in a state of shock and
somewhere in between consciousness and unconsciousness. Her brain refused to
register her daughter's broken, bloody body, or the strange smile on her
immobile face.
As
the paramedics put her on top of a gurney, and tried to clean the blood running
from her head to her shock stricken face, she did not feel her own body
anymore.
Even
though Belinda sat with strangers, soaked to the skin from the cold sweat
pouring from every pore of her body, taking in the horrid scene before her, she
did not register her car exploding, and absolutely refused to see her one and
only child disappear with the big ball of fire projecting into the sky like
some rocket launch.
Instead,
she desperately tried to shut out the images in front of her: she closed her
eyes and promptly went to sleep.
Julian
August 2004. Sydney. Australia.
Belinda has taken Maddie.
Melissa
and I have just returned to the estate after spending two hours at the
solicitor
’
s
office, sorting our mother
’
s
financials, and the nurse has informed us that Belinda has taken my daughter
with her, in spite of clear instructions to the contrary that has been given to
the entire staff months ago.
That
bitch has managed to sneak Maddie into her car, and leave the estate!
I
have rung the police a good thirty minutes ago, since Belinda
’
s phone is on voicemail, and with Melissa,
I am awaiting for their promised call to inform me of any progress, as they
advised they would send a patrol car to her hotel to retrieve my child.
When
the phone finally rings some hours later, I jump up, eager to know where my
baby is.
But
I am unprepared for what comes next.
“
There
’
s been an accident Mr McCarty. Mrs McCarty
has been transported here, if you would come
…”
This is what someone from the Prince of
Wales Hospital tells me as I feel my breath spiral out of control. When I ask
about my daughter, the reply is,
“
I
’
m sorry, you
’
d better come.
“
That all I hear as the phone slips from
my shaking hand to the floor, and I look at my sister while I hold my chest, my
ears buzzing and my vision fading.
In
that instant, I know something unfathomable has happened.
When
we arrive at the hospital, we are taken to Belinda
’
s room where she is covered in bandages,
still unconscious. Doctors inform us she
’
s suffered a possible brain injury that
could leave her damaged forever.
I
look at her. I feel nothing. I just want to know where my baby is.
That
’
s when, someone takes us to see the
administrator, and I learn the truth about what happened to my daughter, the
truth of why I will never see her again or even have her body to bury.
((~~!~~))
Ethan
I am paralysed with fear. The last time I
have been in this hospital was when the doctor informed me of my wife cancer,
and strongly encouraged the termination of her pregnancy.
Now,
four months later, here I am again, waiting for news, and I am scared out of my
mind.
Vic
is 27 weeks pregnant, the cancer is supposedly in check, and surgery to remove
the tumor is scheduled in 4 weeks as well as a concomitant C-section if
necessary. Everything is finally good between us.
I
am in love with my wife. I am in love with my child that I haven
’
t even met yet. I
’m
in love with life itself.
I
truly have never been so happy, so content with my life.
And
I owe it to her: my wife, the mother of my child. No political achievement has
brought the happiness she has made me feel in the past few weeks.
Why
am I here?
Vic
collapsed again tonight. One minute she was fine, actually, laughing about
something I said, the next, I saw her face become a mask of terror, as pain
shot through her and I watched her hold her belly as her body leaned forwards
and her knees buckled.
Luckily,
I was in front of her to catch her. By the time she landed in my arms, she was
barely conscious, and I could see beads of sweat on her entire flushed face,
her body feeling cold in my arms.
I
carried her to the nearest sofa to see if she would come to, but upon
realizing, nothing was happening after a few seconds, I called my chauffeur
telling him to drive us to the hospital, and I called Dr. Beck to ask him to
meet me there, as something was wrong. Very wrong.
An
hour later, Dr. Beck, and the attending, Dr. Stern, come to confer with me
about what needs to be done.
Sepsis.
The diagnosis is without appeal. Terrifying.
The
doctors are adamants, they need to perform surgery immediately, remove my son
from her body or he will die. They both will.
They
ask for my permission.
Something
snaps in me. I chose my son. I have no other choice. She chose him a few months
ago, in this very same place.
I
fought her then, but not today.
I
have no choice. I choose my son.
I
call Lily because I don
’
t
know what else to do. I know I should call Deric, but I
’
m simply unable to speak to him and inform
him his sister might die.
I
am sitting in the waiting room and can
’
t bear it anymore. It has been over two
hours, and no one has come back to see me. My bodyguard is sitting in the
corner, trying not to stare at me. I go to the nurse
’
s station to let them know I am going
downstairs to get some fresh air, as I am suffocating. As I approach, I hear a
group of them talk and gasp with horror. I hear the name McCarty mentioned, and
I stop in my tracks.
McCarty.
Julian?
He can
’
t
be here too, can he?
I
ask, almost fearful. The nurses are intimidated by my presence, I can tell, as
they are fidgeting, looking everywhere but me, but my eyes focus on one, and I
slowly ask her,
”
Did
I hear you correctly? Is Julian McCarty here?
“
She
looks at me, her face almost tearful, and finally admits in whispers,
“
Yes Mr McGregor. Julian McCarty is here,
on the 5
th
floor, his wife and daughter had an accident
…”
I
close my eyes, and think,
And, here we are again.
When
I reopen them, I see the nurse is giving me a strange glance, she must have
seen something on my face. I ask where the stairs are, and she looks puzzled. I
explain I want to go to the 5
th
floor, but do not wish to take the
lift; she points her finger towards a door without saying a word, as she shakes
her head.
Everyone
knows, no one takes the stairs in a hospital.
I
can
’
t
explain why, but I feel the compulsion to take the stairs.
Truth
is, I know, I
’
m
about to cry. There is only so much bad news one can handle in a day.
I
’
m on the 13
th
floor and I start
my descent in the stairwell. I know, I will soon sit on a step and collapse; I
can feel the tears irrevocably coming. Maybe that
’
s why I took the stairs, so no one can see
me cry.
At
first, it
’
s
just a few tears that drop and I continue to go down. I see the floor numbers,
12,11,10,9, each become blurrier than the previous one; my tears are
obstructing my view, my steps are becoming slower, and soon I am no longer
capable of moving. I sit, as incontrollable sobs wrench my body.
Soon,
I realize, I am not alone. I can hear someone else crying. I look up and see no
one, but I can still hear it. It is coming from the floors below me, someone is
there. Someone is also shedding tears.
I
get up thinking I will exit the stairs on the next floor. I do not want to
intrude and witness someone else
’
s
misery. I will take the elevator to go downstairs. My moment has passed.
As
I reach the landing of floor 8, I see the back of a male figure, just a few
steps down from it.
The
man
’
s
is holding his head in his hands, oblivious to my presence.
I
look down at him, and I know.
I
’
m holding the handle of the door, but I
can
’
t
open it. I want to, but I simply can
’
t motion my hand to pull it.
So,
I take the few steps down separating me from the man, and I sit next to him
without saying a word.
He
looks up at me, suddenly aware of my presence; his eyes become wide at the
recognition. He doesn
’
t
say a word, but I wrap my arm around his shoulder and let him cry. My own tears
returning.
((~~!~~))
Ethan
and Julian
Had it been ten minutes? Half an hour?
None of us knew exactly how long we
‘
ve been sitting on the stairs without saying
a word.
The
tears have finally stopped. Both of us are empty and staring at the white wall
in front of us, but not really seeing it.
Finally,
Julian slowly murmurs,
“
E.
How did you know? How did you find me?
”
Our
eyes meet, and I reply in a tired voice,
“
I heard the nurses talk...
”
clearing my throat, I cautiously say,
”
What happened?
”
“
She
’
s dead,
”
he tonelessly replies.
“
Who is dead?
”
I ask in one low breath.
“
My daughter. Maddie. She
’
s dead.
”
Julian looks at me, his expression blank,
and void of life. Yet, his eyes are consumed with pain and guilt.
My
mind starts to reel again, as I feel my chest tighten, and the horrific thought
grips my heart as I wonder if I will hear the same news about my own child
before the day is over.
We
looked at each other. Nothing more needs to be said.
I
help him stand up and say,
“
Jay.
I
’
m
here. Whatever you need.
”
He
nods, runs his fingers through his dishevelled hair and starts to walk down the
stairs as I go back up.
As
I
’
m
opening the door of the 8
th
floor, I hear Julian ask,
“
E?
“
I
turn to look at him, while he pursues,
“
Why are you here, at the hospital? Why
were you crying? Did something happen?
”