Part 3: The Hospital Visit
At 11:00 AM, the heavy oak door of my private recovery room swung open.
Mason walked in first, wearing a tailored sweater, holding a bouquet of cheap supermarket flowers. Beatrice followed close behind, her designer handbag slung over her arm, carrying a fake, overly dramatic expression of maternal concern.
They were laughing softly as they entered, completely unaware that the small black badge pinned to my gown was live-streaming audio and video directly to Detective Miller and Uncle Marcus, who were standing in the observation room right next door.
“Oh, Clara, darling!” Beatrice cried out, stepping toward the bed with her hands raised. “We were so worried! When we woke up and saw you weren’t in the kitchen, we thought you had wandered off in a daze after your terrible fall down the stairs!”
Mason set the flowers on the tray table, leaning over my bed with that same terrifying, cold sneer I had seen on the kitchen floor.
“You really made a scene, Clara,” Mason whispered, keeping his voice low as he gripped the guardrail of my hospital bed. “Dragging yourself out into the street? The doctor said you need surgery and steel plates. Do you have any idea how much this is going to cost our insurance?”
I lay still, keeping my face pale and expressionless, playing the part of the defeated wife they expected to see. “My leg hurts, Mason… Beatrice hit me so hard…”
Beatrice let out a sharp, dismissive scoff, adjusting her coat. “Oh, stop being dramatic! A little lesson with the rolling pin was long overdue. You were talking back about Richard’s diet! Next time, keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told, and you won’t end up with another broken bone.”
Mason smirked, tapping his fingers against the bed frame. “Mom’s right. Once we clear this ‘accidental fall’ story with the hospital social worker, you’re coming home. And this time, you’re quitting your job for good. We’ve already transferred your remaining savings into my mother’s account to cover your ‘medical expenses.'”
