After He killed my Child, I took off the Good-Wife Mask.
Chapter 3
Drake told the sheriff to lock me up, “as law demands”.
My cellphone was seized, my bank cards frozen, I was stripped down to my panties and thrown into a cold, damp prison.
I didn't shout, didn't beg. I just absorbed the entire cruelty even though I was losing it inside.
The media went crazy with the news that I killed Ava.
Drake went in front of cameras, shedding tears about how much he cherished his daughter.
“If not for my investigative prowess, I would have blamed the wrong woman. Elena acted so calm from the outside. I may not recover from this in a long time.”
Sandra wept like a baby too. She presented a small baby cloth.
“I made this with my hands for my niece. I… I don't even know what to do with it now.”
Her cries touched every heart that heard them. Drake took her in his arms, shielding her from the cameras.
The curses and hate on me were unimaginable and endless. No one cared to know the truth.
I was in the prison for three days, eating and drinking nothing.
Each day, a cop would drag me out and press hot metals on my skin, persuading me to withdraw the case from court.
I wept until I lost my voice. I begged to speak to Drake but the officers said he was very busy.
They also claimed he wasn't behind these “persuasion measures”.
“If I were you, I would lay low, accept my punishment and withdraw that case,” the sheriff repeatedly said.
Finally, when I was at the verge of death, I remembered my hopeful father and my brother in critical condition.
Then I whispered I wanted to withdraw.
The next minute, Drake arrived. He wasn't busy anymore.
He stood very far and held a scarf over his nostrils.
Sandra was perched beside him, his right hand shielding her from…me.
“Are you sure you can stand this? It's pretty… disgusting,” he said.
Sandra shrugged.
“She's my cousin. Even though the whole world has seen her for who she is, I would still care for her.”
Drake looked at her with admiration.
“I've never had a woman as kind as you are. Even at the risk of losing your child from the bad stench, you still chose family. It's just so bad I'm married and loyal to… her.”
I laughed through broken lips. If this was what marriage and loyalty meant, then it was better being married to the devil himself.
His eyes turned cold when they fell on me.
“I've been sending food and medications to you, why aren't you using them?”
I had checked the “drugs”, they were expired for several months, and the foods were bought from street sellers.
He shook his head and brought out court documents. Then he smiled.
“I learned you've made the right decision. Now sign this and make a video that you lied against Sandra all this time.”
I closed my eyes and remembered the incessant torture every night, the hunger, the stench. I recalled my sick brother, he was in cancer grade 4, and only the facility in Drake's hospital could treat him.
So, with tears streaming down my face, I signed. Then I made the video, denouncing that Sandra was the culprit.
Drake deleted it multiple times saying I wasn't convincing enough. He made me beg for Sandra's mercy, like a street dog begging for crumbs.
Then Sandra walked into the shot and hugged me.
“I forgive you,” she said.
Then leaned in to whisper, “What do you think I should call my baby? Maybe Ava?”
I almost tore her apart.
Drake, satisfied, took her back to his side. “Now that you've officially admitted to the murder, I'm sure you know the legal implications. I'll have my lawyers sue you.”
Something shattered in me.
So after all these… he wanted to sue me?
“Drake…” I tried to speak.
Sandra interrupted. “Cousin, look, Drake here has suffered greatly from your actions and stubbornness. His business is starting to crack. Yet he finds time to care for you.
“Even his influence cannot affect this. I'll beg on your behalf for a lighter sentence.”
Drake sighed and touched my face. This touch, which I once melted into, was now like hot iron pressed to my chin.
“You can come home tomorrow morning. I'll have a nurse look at you. They're pretty busy in the hospital so don't waste her time.”
Sandra hugged him. “You're just too kind.”
He poked her playfully. “I need your child to be born in a positive environment, full of love and care.”
Their words of hypocrisy dug excruciating holes inside me, leaving me gasping.
As they left, Sandra looked over her shoulder, her eyes full of mockery and triumph.
The next morning, I was released.
I walked out and there was no car from Drake. I flagged a cab only to discover my cards had been blocked.
I called Drake about my cards.
“Sandra needed all the money for her antenatal drugs. See this as compensation.”
“I need a fucking cab, Drake!” I snapped but the line had gone cold.
The cab driver was kind and brought me home.
I could barely walk with the bruises covering my skin, but I dragged myself through the mansion gates.
Drake stood at the front door, disgust on his face. “How did you pay the cab driver?”
Before I could speak, he slapped my face. Drake had never raised his hand on me.
“After all I do for you, you still whore around with cab drivers! You should have walked home rather than pay with sex!”
I wanted to cry, wanted to fall and weep so loudly.
But what would it solve? Just a few more days and Drake would beg me on his knees.
The nurse arrived an hour later.
Drake hovered around her.
“Are you not done yet? Your services are needed at the hospital!” he snapped every two minutes.
“Sir, her condition is critical. She needs to be admitted,” the nurse begged.
Drake scoffed. “I know my wife. She's strong. If she can't stand bruises, what would she do when she's in jail?”
So I was left with incomplete procedures. The spirits seared my wounds. The bandages were loose.
I kept whimpering and asking for painkillers.
But none of this compared to the agony in my soul.
Later, Drake left with Sandra for her antenatal checkup.
An hour later, I forced myself out and went to the hospital to see my brother.
I made his favorite porridge and imagined his smile when he would see me. I'd wipe his tears and make sure he didn't know what I had gone through.
When I reached his ward, I froze.
It was empty and sealed.
A doctor immediately took me aside.
“Last night there was a power malfunction in your brother's ward. He suffocated to death. I'm sorry.”
My knees buckled. The flask shattered. I slammed against the marble, my eyes blank, staring into space.
For 20 years, this hospital had never had a power malfunction, not for one second.
Why now?
Why only my brother's ward?
Why last night after I had signed the case withdrawal?
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