Page 5

I collected the scans from the self-service machine, but as I was heading upstairs to find the doctor, I unexpectedly ran into Anna. The results arrived half an hour later.
She was leaving the gynecologist’s office wearing loose clothing and with her hand resting on her belly.
Beckham was behind her.
I noticed her gently caressing her stomach, and Beckham was watching her intently, as if afraid she would stumble–just like a devoted husband and wife.
I gripped the scans tightly, attempting to turn around and return downstairs.
But Anna saw me and called out, “Athena!”
I stiffly turned to face her as she cheerfully enquired, “What brings you to the hospital?” Are you feeling unwell?”
As she spoke, her arm remained linked to Beckham’s.
I didn’t want to engage, so I tried to avoid them and go upstairs, but I tripped over something.
I fell hard, angrily kicking at whatever had tripped me; my hands scraped against the floor, drawing blood, and the scans flew out of my grasp.
Anna crouched, clutching her foot in pain.
“Ouch, Athena. Why aren’t you looking where you’re going? “Beckham, it really hurts.”
Beckham immediately knelt to check her foot before standing up.
He looked at me with disdain: “Athena, can’t you stop being so reckless all the time?”
He scolded me without even considering what had just happened, ignoring the fact that I, too, had fallen.
I responded, “Don’t you see why I fell in the first place?”
Beckham didn’t notice my scraped and bleeding hand on the floor until then.
His eyes shifted with a sense of guilt.
I pushed myself up to sit and took a tissue from my pocket to wipe the blood off the floor.
I slowly got to my feet, looking around until I found my scans.
I walked over to pick them up, but Anna looked down and deliberately stepped on them.
I squatted and tried to pull the scans out from under her foot, but they wouldn’t budge. I tugged harder, but they still didn’t move an inch.
Anger and frustration swept through me.
Who did she think she was, this mistress brazenly challenging me, the woman he married, right in my face?
So I raised my hand and gave her a hard slap across the face.
Anna screamed in pain, tears streaming down her cheeks.
She jumped back, clutching her cheek, her eyes welling with tears as she looked pitifully at Beckham.
Beckham stepped forward and shoved me aside.
I stumbled back a few steps, barely catching myself on the wall.
“Enough, Athena!”” He yelled, “Look at yourself; you’re acting like a crazy woman!”
I responded, “She stepped on my scans and refused to move. Could your bias get any more obvious, Beckham?”
He fell silent, as if he had just realised I was in the hospital because I was ill.
His brow furrowed, and a flicker of concern appeared in his eyes. “Are you ill?”
I bent down to pick up my scans from the floor, hesitating for a moment before saying something.
But Anna jumped in first: “You just got a cold. Do you really need scans for that?”
Beckham exhaled sharply and felt relieved.
“A cold?” Do you have to be so dramatic about it? Anna is pregnant, for goodness sake.”
I scoffed at him: “What does her pregnancy have to do with me? Is the baby mine?”
I couldn’t be bothered explaining further.
I turned and walked away.
In the doctor’s office, I handed over the scans that I had struggled to obtain.
The doctor inspected them, his brow furrowing tightly.
He reviewed the scans several times before raising his glasses, his expression serious.
He told me I had late-stage brain cancer and only a few months left to live.