72 HOURS AFTER VANESSA WAS ADMITTED INTO TOM SHIRE MEMORIAL HOSPITAL — THURSDAY, 9:00AM
THIRD PERSON POV
The penlight flickered across Vanessa's pupils, leaving tiny sparks of white dancing in her vision. The doctor leaned in with calm, practiced movements, checking her head, her reflexes, the monitors. When she finished, she scribbled briskly into the folder tucked beneath her arm.
"Mrs. Vanessa Styles," the doctor said gently, "you're stable enough to be discharged this evening. But you must rest. Eat properly. No stress, and no strenuous activity. If anything feels wrong, even slightly, you return immediately."
"Okay, doctor. Thank you for taking care of me," Vanessa whispered.
A small nod, and the doctor was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.
Silence engulfed the private ward. Vanessa lay back against the pillows, her eyes tracing the sterile lights above her. No Mr. Styles Senior. No Mrs. Styles. Not even a phone call. Only Julian had come, and even that memory felt faint, like it was three weeks ago instead of three days.
Seventy-two hours without seeing Murphy.
A cold tremor slid through her chest. She steadied her breathing quickly and reminded herself that worry raised her blood pressure. Raised blood pressure meant prolonged admission. Prolonged admission meant more helplessness.
She swallowed the burn in her throat.
They don't even respect me. Not with a sick child, not with a lost pregnancy, not with anything.
Her fingers curled tightly into the sheets.
The door creaked open.
Felicity stepped inside, her eyes widening as she took in the spacious ward, the reclining bed, the private bathroom tucked at the corner. Her mouth hung slightly open.
"It even has its own bathroom," she murmured until her gaze met Vanessa's red, furious eyes. Her expression sobered instantly.
"Miss Vanessa… I'm really sorry I was the reason you lo—"
"Shut up." Vanessa's voice came out thin and trembling- the kind that held back a storm. "I was humiliated by my mother-in-law. Even innocent Murphy was dragged into this. All because of you."
"Miss Vanessa..."
"And why," Vanessa snapped, "does everyone insist on calling me Miss Vanessa? I am a married woman."
Felicity hesitated before answering. "It's Martha," she said quietly.
Vanessa's brows pulled together. "What about Martha?"
"She told me not to clean the spill immediately that day. She said..." Felicity swallowed, "she said to prioritize picking the fresh herbal leaves for Mrs. Styles' tea."
Vanessa's breath hitched. "Excuse me?"
Felicity stepped closer and gently placed a small bag on the table. "Please, miss. Pretend I didn't say anything. I'm only here to take you home after you're discharged."
But Vanessa's voice softened into urgency.
"Felicity… please. I need to know how the entire Styles household sees me. You can trust me."
Felicity picked up an apple and began slicing it with practiced ease. A dry chuckle escaped her.
"You know, madam," the word sounded strange from her lips. "I can't tell you what your father-in-law thinks. He's impossible to read."
She placed the neatly sliced apples onto a saucer and handed it to Vanessa.
"But what I do know," Felicity continued, "is that before Sir Julian brought you home as his wife, he had a terrible fight with Mrs. Styles. She asked him if he could trust a woman who betrayed her best friend." Felicity lowered her voice. "So… I can't trust you. I'm sorry."
*
AFTER VANESSA HAS BEEN DISCHARGED
The drive back to the Styles mansion blurred past the window. Vanessa sat stiffly in the back seat, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Felicity kept stealing glances at her, but Vanessa never once looked her way.
So… no one cares for me in that house except Julian.
And even that love… how long until it fades?
As soon as the car stopped in the circular driveway, Vanessa pushed the door open and hurried inside, her steps echoing sharply against marble floors. She ran to Murphy's room.
Empty.
When she turned around, Martha stood in the doorway, posture immaculate, expression unreadable.
"Mr. and Mrs. Styles are at the hospital with your son," she said calmly. "I phoned them the moment you arrived. You've been instructed to rest. Starting tomorrow, you will resume caring for your child."
Martha turned to leave, but Vanessa's tired and shaky voice called out.
"Martha."
She paused.
Vanessa stepped closer. "Next time you give instructions, ensure they're carried out properly. I can't go through another accident like that."
A faint smile tugged at Martha's lips.
"Miss Vanessa," she said softly, "you are not the madam of this house. Therefore, you are not my priority. Mrs. Styles' herbal tea takes over an hour to brew, and fresh leaves are required. I told Felicity to pick them before cleaning the spill. If you recall, I told her not to forget to clean it—not to do it immediately."
Vanessa's face flushed red.
"If you were serious about your job," she hissed, "you would have cleaned the mess up yourself. And my child would still be alive."
The air between them hardened.
Martha stepped closer until barely a meter separated them. Her composure never wavered.
"Miss Vanessa," she said in a voice soft as velvet and sharp as glass, "if you believe you can run this household better, you may apply for the house-manager position. And you could consider divorcing Mr. Julian. After all… I overheard Mrs. Styles urging him to divorce you and pay you off. Perhaps it would be easier if you initiate it."
She then gave a gentle smile— one that cut deeper than cruelty— and walked past her.
Vanessa didn't move.
The silence in Murphy's empty room swallowed her whole as the first tear slid down her cheek and more followed.