“You’ve always been a burden,” the husband said in front of the doctors.
“Margaret Elizabeth, do leave those IVs for nowyou’ve been at it for three hours! Go home and carry on tomorrow morning,” the head of the medical department stopped in the doorway of the treatment room, watching the elderly nurse methodically sorting through the vials. “Your Harold must be waiting.”
“My Harold stopped waiting thirty years ago, and hes still alive and well,” Margaret Elizabeth smiled, but her hands continued their workneatly sorting, checking, arranging the trays. “Dont worry, Dr. Jonathan, Ill be done soon. I just want everything ready for morning rounds.”
The head physician shook his head but didnt argueafter forty years at the hospital, Margaret Elizabeth had earned the right to do things her way. Her precision, diligence, and dedication were legendary on the ward.
“Oh, by the way,” he said, turning to leave, “that patient in Room Seven asked for you. Emily Anne. Said you promised her some drops.”
“Oh, goodness, yes!” Margaret Elizabeth clapped her hands. “It completely slipped my mind. Poor thing hasnt been sleeping well. I told her Id bring Dr. Harrisons prescription.”
“Well, sort that out and go home,” he said firmly. “Or Ill have Harold calling me tomorrow, complaining Im overworking you.”
Margaret Elizabeth laughed. “He wont. Never did learn how to use the phone properly. Says hes too old for these newfangled contraptions.”
Once he left, she finished with the IVs and headed to Room Seven. Inside, a woman in her fifties lay on the bed by the windowthin, worn, with premature silver streaks in her chestnut hair. Despite her illness, there was quiet dignity and a trace of hidden sorrow in her eyes.
“Emily Anne, you were looking for me? Apologies, I got caught up,” Margaret Elizabeth perched on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Better, thank you,” the woman managed a faint smile. “The shortness of breath has eased. Its justno sleep at night. Too many thoughts…”
“Thats the nerves,” the nurse nodded. “Your body needs time to heal after such an operation. Here, I brought those drops the doctor prescribed. Twenty drops in half a glass of water before bed.”
“Thank you,” Emily Anne took the bottle. “Youre always so kind. I havent met many like you in life.”
Something in her tone made Margaret Elizabeth study her more closely.
“Is everything all right? Not just the illness, I mean. Does anyone visit you?”
“My daughter comes when she can,” Emily Anne replied. “Shes good to me. But she lives far away, and its not always possible. And my husband” she hesitated, “hes busy. Work, you know.”
Margaret Elizabeth frowned but said nothing. Years of nursing had taught her to hear what patients left unsaid. Something wasnt right.
“You know what?” she suddenly decided, “let me brush your hair. Its lovely, but tangled. Youre still too weak to manage, and goodness knows theres little comfort in hospital.”
Without waiting for an answer, she took a comb from the bedside drawer and began gently working through the strands. Emily Anne tensed at first but soon relaxed under the soothing, rhythmic strokes.
“My mother used to love brushing my hair,” she murmured. “Said it was the best cure for sadness. My daughter and I did the same when she was little. But my husband” she trailed off.
“What about him?” Margaret Elizabeth prompted softly.
“He called it nonsense,” Emily Anne finally said after a long pause. “Said long hair was just extra trouble. That with my bad back, I should keep it shortmore practical. But I refused just this once.”
“Quite right,” the nurse nodded. “A womans hair is her strength. Men never understand.”
They fell silent. Margaret Elizabeth finished combing and began loosely braiding her patients hair.
“Tell me about yourself,” Emily Anne asked. “Do you have family? You mentioned your husband”
“Nothing grand,” Margaret Elizabeth chuckled. “Just me and my Harold. Our sons in Canadashows us the grandchildren on video calls once in a blue moon. Otherwise, its just us two old birds. Forty-five years togetherhard to believe!”
“Forty-five” Emily Anne echoed. “James and I wouldve been thirty-two this year. If I make it.”
“Dont say such things!” Margaret Elizabeth scolded. “Of course you will. The operation went well, your tests are improving. Youll be chasing great-grandchildren yet.”
“James doesnt want grandchildren,” Emily Anne said quietly. “Says Im trouble enough as it is. That theyd just mean more fuss.”
Margaret Elizabeths hands stilled on the braid. Something in the womans voice made her chest tighten with unease.
“Emily Anne,” she began carefully, “your husband has he always spoken to you like this?”
A long silence. Then a deep sigh.
“No. Not always. When we were young, it was different. He was attentivebrought flowers, said sweet things. Then I fell ill. My spinetrapped nerve, chronic pain. Had to leave my job. And James he became someone else. Irritable about my complaints, the medicines, the housework I couldnt manage.”
Margaret Elizabeth gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
“At first I thought it was stresswork, fatigue. Then hoped things would ease once our daughter grew up. But she left for university, and it only worsened. I became” she searched for the word, “a burden. Thats what he calls me. Youre a burden, Emily. Nothing but trouble and expense.”
“The nerve!” Margaret Elizabeth burst out. “And you put up with this?”
“What choice have I?” Emily Anne shrugged. “Where would I go? No one hires women with bad backs, and my pensions a pittance. My daughters starting her own lifeI cant saddle her with my troubles. So I endure. Try not to provoke him.”
Finishing the braid, Margaret Elizabeth sat facing her.
“Emily, dear, this is no way to live. A husband should stand by you in sickness, not blame you. Thirty-two years together, a daughter raiseddoes he not see you didnt choose this illness?”
“James says its my fault,” Emily Anne looked away. “Bad diet, not enough exercise, poor posture at my old desk job. Then the endless costs I skip medicines to save money. And now this operationhe was furious at the bills.”
“Wait,” Margaret Elizabeth frowned. “But the NHS covered your surgery.”
“The surgery, yes,” Emily Anne nodded. “But the scans, the brace, the rehabit adds up. Weve the mortgage, his car payments”
“His car, I suppose?” the nurse arched a brow.
“Of course,” Emily Anne gave a joyless smile. “He needs it for work. Hes the breadwinner.”
Margaret Elizabeth opened her mouthbut just then, a young nurse hurried in.
“Margaret Elizabeth, youre needed at the desk. Your husbands on the phone.”
“Harold? On the phone?” she blinked. “Something must be wrong. Right, Emily, I must dash. Dont forget those drops.”
Leaving the room, she spotted young Dr. Harrison speaking with a well-dressed middle-aged manpolished shoes, expensive watch, the taut bearing of someone used to authority.
“I need a timeline,” the man was saying. “How long before shes functional? When can she come home?”
“Recovery takes time,” Dr. Harrison explained patiently. “A month here minimum, then home care. Initially, Emily will need assistancemoving, bathing”
“Assistance?” The mans mouth twisted. “Ive a business to run. Cant you speed things up? Extra treatments, stronger medication?”
“Bodies dont work like that,” Dr. Harrison said. “But you could hire a carer. Or perhaps family could help?”
“Carers cost money,” the man snapped. “Weve no family nearbyjust our daughter, and shes in Manchester.”
Margaret Elizabeth picked up the phone, trying not to eavesdropbut the mans impatience was unmistakable. Something told her this was Emily Annes husband.
“Harold?”
“Margaret, when are you coming home?” her husbands voice was anxious. “The boilers acting upthe gas mans here, but he needs the homeowner.”
“Soon, love. Twenty minutes. Put the kettle on, Im famished.”
Hanging up, she overheard more.
“Doctor, I want to speak with my wife. Make her understand she must push harder. Shes unmotivated.”
Dr. Harrison straightened. “Your wife had major spinal surgery. Shes doing excellently. Recovery cant be rushed.”
“Just take me to her.”
They moved toward the ward, Margaret Elizabeth following uneasily. Something about the man set her on edge.
Inside, Emily Anne was struggling to sit up, gripping the bed rails. Seeing her husband, she frozeher face caught between surprise and fear.
“James? You came?”
“Obviously,” he stayed by the door. “Your doctor says youll be lazing here for weeks.”
“Im doing the exercises,” she said quietly.
“Not well enough,” he sneered. “Do you realize what this is costing? Third time Ive left work for your errands. And these endless prescriptions”
“I only take whats necessary,” she whispered.
“Necessary?” he cut in. “Youve no concept of money. I told you for yearssee a doctor before it got serious. But you dithered, worried about cost. Now its worse.”
Dr. Harrison cleared his throat. “Spinal conditions often”
“Ive known my wife thirty-two years,” James said coldly. “Always procrastinatingher job, our daughter, now her health. Consequences never occur to her.”
Emily Anne sat silent, fingers pleating the blanket.
“James, please,” she finally said. “Not now. I am getting better. I wont trouble you long.”
“Trouble?” he laughed harshly. “Emily, youve always been a burden. First the postnatal depression, then the migraines, now this. Our marriage is me hauling your dead weight.”
The room went still. Dr. Harrisons jaw tightened. Margaret Elizabeth stepped forward.
“Sir,” she said, surprising herself, “this is a hospital. Youre speaking to a postoperative patient. Show respectif not to your wife, then to this place.”
James turned, as if noticing her for the first time.
“And you are?”
“Margaret Elizabeth, senior nurse. And Ill ask you to leave if you cant speak civilly.”
“This is my wife”
“You may visit during designated hours, politely,” she interrupted. “Right now, youre disturbing the ward.”
“How dare a nurse tell me how to speak to my wife!”
“And I wont tolerate abuse of patients in my ward,” Dr. Harrison said firmly. “Youll leave now and return when calmer.”
James glared at them, then at his wifestill hunched in silence.
“Fine,” he spat. “Coddle her. But Emily,” he turned at the door, “when youre home, therell be no carer. Manage alone.”
The door slammed.
Silence lingered. Emily Anne looked uptears in her eyes, but her voice steady.
“Forgive him. Hes not usually like this. Just tired.”
Dr. Harrison and Margaret Elizabeth exchanged a glance.
“Emily,” the doctor said gently, “does he often speak to you this way?”
“No, really,” she attempted a smile. “Works been hard, and now my surgery”
“Thats no excuse,” Margaret Elizabeth said. “No man should speak to any woman so, let alone an ill one.”
“You dont understand,” Emily Anne whispered. “Ive nowhere to go. I depend on himmoney, my health. My daughters just beginning her lifeI cant burden her.”
Dr. Harrison sat beside her.
“There are shelters. Support services. Rehabilitation centers. And” he hesitated, “this could constitute emotional abuse.”
“Abuse? No,” she shook her head. “Hes never raised a hand. Just words. And weariness. Thirty-two yearsit takes its toll.”
Margaret Elizabeth took her hand.
“Dear, not all long marriages look like this. My Harold and I have had quarrels, yes. But to call your sick wife a burden? Thats not wearinessthats cruelty.”
“But what can I do?” Desperation edged her voice.
“First, heal,” the doctor said. “While youre here, well help you find options.”
Before leaving, Margaret Elizabeth made sure Emily Anne was comfortable, administering the drops.
“You know,” she said, “my Harold was just as proud when we met. Thought the world revolved round him. Then I fell illpneumonia, terribly high fever. He stayed up nights, cooled my brow, made broth. Thats when I knew he was a true man. Not one for pretty words when its easy, but one who stands by you when its hard.”
“You were lucky,” Emily Anne murmured.
“Not luckchoice,” Margaret Elizabeth corrected. “And you can still choose. Not a new love, no. But a different life. Without humiliation, without guilt. Think on it.”
She left Emily Anne deep in thought.
That evening, over tea, Margaret Elizabeth told Harold about her day. He listened, shaking his heada stout man with a face like weathered oak.
“Bloody monster,” he muttered. “How do such men live with themselves?”
“I dont know,” she sighed. “But seeing them makes me grateful for you.”
Harold flushed, pleased but bashful.
“Ah, go on Im just an ordinary bloke.”
“Extraordinary,” she smiled, patting his hand. “The very best.”
Meanwhile, in the hospital, Emily Anne lay awake despite the drops. She thought of her husbands words, of thirty-two years with a man who saw her as dead weight. Of how many more she could endure. And for the first time in years, a quiet, stubborn feeling stirredthat perhaps it wasnt too late to change.
