The Bleeding Stops
The bleeding stopped on the fourth day. Once she had expelled every last remnant, the thought settled in that it was truly over.
At Heiner’s request, the doctor examined the medications Annette had been taking. His expression as he scrutinized the pills was far from reassuring.
“Hmm… Sinagel is prohibited for women in early pregnancy. Ordinarily one would confirm the possibility of pregnancy with certainty before prescribing. Did your attending physician never mention it? The symptoms you described are common among expectant mothers… and your menses had stopped as well.”
“Nothing of the sort was said…”
“Is that so. Well then, I’ll prescribe this along with another mild nerve stabilizer. The effect will be gentle and lasting.”
Annette nodded once. The doctor wrote something on the papers and handed her the prescription.
“And if you take too much of any medication, you can develop rebound headaches from overuse. The same applies to the headache pills. Do not exceed the duration or dosage written here.”
“Yes.”
She had learned she had been taking a drug forbidden to pregnant women, yet she felt a startling absence of emotion. More precisely, it was as if something inside her had broken; her thoughts simply would not turn.
Even after the doctor finished explaining the new medications and left the room, Annette could not gather her dazed mind.
“…The doctor.”
Heiner’s cracked voice broke the silence.
“Let’s change the doctor.”
Annette slowly turned her head to look at him.
Their eyes of different temperatures met. Heiner stared at her without the slightest movement, as though he were not even breathing.
At last Annette slowly shook her head.
“There’s no need.”
“How many times have you been examined, and he failed to notice even the pregnancy…”
“It’s fine.”
“What do you mean, fine?”
Heiner’s tone sharpened. Beneath his composed features a faint anger stirred—an unfamiliar expression.
Annette thought he was overreacting. She truly no longer cared about any of it. She no longer needed a doctor anyway.
“Just… it doesn’t really matter…”
“So what exactly doesn’t matter?”
Annette swallowed the sigh that threatened to escape.
She truly did not want to fight with Heiner any longer. Not out of concern for their relationship, but simply because wasting her remaining strength on pointless arguments was exhausting.
“Why do you care?”
She pressed her throbbing temple and turned her face away.
“…If you’re going to change him, then change him. You’ll do as you please anyway.”
Her voice was heavy with weariness. Heiner said nothing, lips pressed tight. An unreadable gaze rested on Annette’s face.
The second hand of the pocket watch ticked with mechanical regularity. A silence like inertia hung between them. After a long while he spoke again.
“Dr. Arnold examines not only you but me and the servants of the residence as well. I have no wish to employ anyone incompetent or negligent. …Regardless of you.”
His voice had softened. Annette nodded halfheartedly, eyes fixed on the edge of the bed.
The sharp edge of the atmosphere gradually dulled.
“…Annette.”
After a moment’s hesitation Heiner called her name quietly.
“That you had to endure something like this… I regret it. Sincerely. Those responsible will be held to account as they deserve—legally and morally.”
Regret…
The word sounded utterly strange. Heiner spoke as though offering condolences over a matter that had nothing whatsoever to do with him, the misfortune of some stranger.
Annette let out a dry laugh before she could stop herself. It would have been better if he had said nothing at all.
At least then she might have clung to the foolish comfort that he was taking this as his own affair.
How much more was she supposed to hope, and how much more to be disappointed? She had been thoroughly disappointed by him for three long years; she had thought there was nothing left to expect—
Regret.
He said he regretted it.
Annette could not even begin to grasp how she was meant to receive such cheap sympathy. She wanted to despise him, then to rage at him, and in the end everything simply felt hollow.
He was the sort of man who would say “What a pity” with an unchanging face even if she died. Or who might feel relieved.
Instead of challenging him on it, Annette chose to change the subject.
“…When can I leave the hospital?”
“Whenever you wish.”
“As soon as possible.”
“You still need more rest. The psychological counseling isn’t finished either…”
“I already said I don’t need counseling. And have the doctor come to the residence.”
Annette’s voice was hard—colder even than when she had spoken of divorce.
In the past three years she had never given Heiner anything resembling an order. She had only ever fretted not to offend him in the slightest.
For all that she had once lived more luxuriously than anyone in the capital, Annette had never been able to command even a single servant with ease.
So telling him to summon them to the residence was something the Annette of the past might have said.
“….”
“Why? Is it not possible?”
“…I’ll arrange it.”
Heiner answered belatedly. His gaze had settled on her fingers. Annette followed it and lowered her head. A chilly voice descended over her.
“Where is the ring?”
For a moment she did not understand.
“…What?”
“The ring.”
He indicated her ring finger with a glance. Only then did Annette make a small sound of realization. Her left ring finger was bare.
Should I say I took it off because it was uncomfortable?
But she had already demanded a divorce; there was no reason to offer excuses. After a brief pause she answered calmly.
“I just took it off.”
“Just?”
“It has no meaning anymore.”
She expected him to press her. Lately he had reacted with sharp sensitivity to her every action.
Yet contrary to expectation Heiner said nothing more. He simply stared at her empty ring finger for a moment, then turned his head away.
“…Rest.”
The doctor said there was no obstacle to immediate discharge. The gunshot wound had never been severe, and she had nearly fully recovered.
The discharge formalities moved quickly. The miscarriage itself had not leaked, yet the circumstances of the incident and the hospital where she had stayed were reported in exhaustive detail in the newspapers.
Heiner offered, almost as an excuse, that he had been unable to prevent coverage of the event itself. Annette, however, had never believed he would exert himself on her behalf.
Is being torn apart by the public different from an actual threat to one’s safety?
She thought the question without feeling as she settled a black-brimmed hat on her head. Dress and shoes were black as well; she looked like a woman bound for a funeral.
Annette drew the edge of the curtain aside a little. Light mottled by the shadows of raindrops clinging to the glass fell across the back of her hand.
Outside a steady rain was falling. Round umbrellas milled at the hospital entrance—reporters who had come for her.
Her eyes, devoid of warmth, swept over the cluster. Behind her came a knock at the door. Still gazing out the window, she answered.
“Yes.”
The door slid open. A flat voice spoke from behind her.
“All the luggage has been moved to the car. Let’s go.”
Only then did Annette release the curtain. The fabric fell across the glass and cut off the pale shaft of light.
She turned, took the bag from the bed, and left the room. At once four attendants closed ranks before and behind her.
“Even if the reporters swarm, say nothing.”
Heiner, walking beside her, suddenly murmured low. Annette lifted her face to look up at him.
“They’re desperate for any scrap of a story. Don’t give them even a simple answer.”
Because of the difference in height she could see only his jawline and the hard set of his mouth. Under the bluish corridor lights he looked like a tall ghost.
“Do you understand?”
“…I understand.”
She lowered her head again and answered as if to herself.
A cool silence filled the VIP elevator all the way down. Annette drew the black veil of her hat over her face. Her fingertips trembled faintly.
The elevator chimed its arrival on the ground floor. As they passed through the corridor into the lobby, every gaze in the building swung toward them at once.
The lobby had fallen into an unnatural hush that felt alien. Annette fixed her eyes on the tips of her shoes and concentrated solely on the act of walking correctly. The sound of her heels rang out bleakly.
The attendant ahead reached for the entrance doors. Annette’s shoulders, seized by tension and fear, locked rigid.
The moment the doors opened, rain and chaotic clamor crashed over them together. Camera flashbulbs popped and flared through the rain.
“They’re out!”
“Lights on!”
“Just one look this way, please!”
“Was sealing the medical records the lady’s wish?”
“They’re saying the shooting was motivated by a grudge—do you have any idea why?”
“Do you have no intention of giving an interview at all?”
Questions hurled like a roar bored into her ears. The attendants blocked the surging reporters. On the back of Annette’s hand, which clutched the bag strap like a lifeline, thin bones stood out sharply.
Heiner stood shielding her almost as if embracing her. His familiar scent brushed heavily against her nose. Yet she felt not the slightest sense of safety.
There had been a time when she had hoped this large body would protect her. Looking back now, she understood that “protecting” her had never been possible for him in the first place.
Unless he simply covered her eyes so she could see nothing at all.
Shards of broken flashbulbs crunched under her heels. Each burst of a camera produced a sharp report.
“…Do you have a personal connection with the perpetrator?”
“…In the course of the statement…”
“…Madam!”
In the midst of the uproar a sharp voice suddenly cut through.
“Mrs. Valdemar!”