It all started with a game

Chapter 16.1

The man, who's name I now wished I hadn't been too distracted to ask, crumpled to the floor with an anguished cry. It seemed as though in this one instant he aged twenty years, his hair suddenly grey, his skin wrinkled, his eyes dimmed, his heart shattered.

The rest of the crowd watched, some tearing up themselves for this stranger who they'd never even had a conversation with, or maybe it was for the fear that soon they too could be in the same position as him.

And when I was in that position, I was alone but I didn't want to be. No one wants to be only after something like that.

I kept my steps light as I made my way over to him. I wrapped my arm under his, gently lifting him. "Come on, let's get you back in a chair."

He let me carry him over, his blood curdling cries filling the stagnant air. "My daughter, my precious baby."

"I know, I know." I whispered, setting him in the seat.

The poor man was long forgotten by most of the room as a second nurse stepped into our circle. I kept my seat by the man, hoping I could provide him at least an ounce of comfort, but nothing could make a wound that deep hurt any less.

"Someone for..." the nurse's voice trailed off as she glanced down at her own scythe, reading the name off. "Beatrice Henderson."

My body went taut, no longer inhaling nor exhaling. I released the poor, grovelings man's hand. It was perhaps the worst thing I had ever done in my entire life, but I needed to know if she was okay and if that made me a cruel human being, then so be it. I ignored his pain richened sorrows, standing before the nurse like a criminal stands before a jury to hear his verdict. "That's, um...that"—deep breath—"that's me."

The room was silent except for the man's pains which had been turned into muffled sobs threatening to tear the dam open and flood the city. But he had silenced it, so that he, and the rest of the waiting room, could find out if I would be the next person to be told 'we did everything we could'.

I waited for her to say something, anything. She smiled at me, took a breath and finally spoke. "Are you family?"

I blinked. Once. Twice. Three times.

Am I family? For all I know, Beatrice could be laying on a table, dead, with her insides hanging out and this lady's biggest concern is if I'm family? If I tell her I'm not family is she going to leave me out here to wonder if Beatrice is alive? She could be dead and all they care about is if I'm family.

I wasn't going to sit here and wonder if she was alright. "I'm her husband." I lied, begging she wouldn't call me out for it.

I received another bright smile from her. That had to be a good sign, right? No one delivers bad news with a smile, right?

"Well Mr. Henderson, your wife is in stable condition."

My body relaxed instantly, my muscles sagging in on themselves, sore from being tight for so long. She's okay. There was a small sigh of relief from the people around me, people I had never met in my life and yet they felt almost as relieved as I did at the news. Even the man, despite having just been informed of his daughter's death, gave me a solitary nod and an attempt at a smile, the most broken thing I'd ever seen. People who had no idea who I was, or who Beatrice was, and yet they cared enough to see if she was alright, and yet I had not bothered to ask a single one their names, or why they were here. I had not bothered to talk to a single one, only having spoken to the man because he started the conversation. And that is why she would never love someone like me. Because she would have asked their names, she would have asked all of their names and listened to all of their stories. I did not.