When I Took My Mother to the Hospital, My Husband Demanded That the Screen Be Turned Off and the Doctor’s Face Changed

That morning my mother gripped my hand so tightly in the hospital room that her nails dug into my skin, while my husband demanded that the doctor turn off the screen.

Doctor Nikoloz stood motionless for several seconds. On the computer monitor was an image of my mother’s abdominal cavity, and in the middle there was the clear shadow of a small, elongated object.

“Arthur, how did you get in here?” I asked.

“You weren’t answering my calls, Linda. I thought you were doing something stupid.”

The smell of rain and the heavy aroma of expensive perfume came from his coat. There were drops of water in his hair, but the rain outside had already stopped. This meant that he had stood at the hospital entrance and waited for us for a long time.

My mother, Elena, sat on the bed and held her abdomen with both hands. Her face was gray, although she had always known how to hide pain. In the small house in Queens where she had lived all her life, she watered the roses even when she had a fever and said that “everything passes.”

But in recent weeks she had stopped eating. Of the meat stew she used to make by the whole pot, she took only two spoonfuls and pushed the plate aside. At night she woke up, covered her mouth with her hand, and breathed quietly.

“Doctor, what do you see?” I asked.

Arthur immediately stepped forward.

“First we need to talk to each other. This is a family matter.”

“My mother is a member of the family,” I said.

“That is exactly why you shouldn’t frighten her.”

The doctor looked at him.

“Mr. Arthur, the patient needs an immediate examination and possibly surgery as well. Please wait outside.”

Arthur smiled bitterly.

“You have no idea how confused this woman is.”

My mother raised her head.

“I am not confused.”

Her voice seemed to split the room. I looked at my mother and for the first time saw not a weak old woman, but the woman who had raised me alone in childhood and had never allowed anyone to raise their voice at her.

Six hours earlier I had been standing at the dinner table at home. Arthur was looking at his phone and sliding his finger across the clock screen.

“My mother’s stomach has been hurting from burning for several weeks,” I said. “I’ll take her to the doctor tomorrow.”

“Are you starting again?”

“She has lost weight.”

“She isn’t eighty-five, is she? She’s seventy-five. At this age everyone has something that hurts.”

“She feels nauseated every day.”

Arthur put his fork on the plate.

“She’s simply taking money from you. She demanded attention all her life.”

An expensive watch glittered beside him. That same week he spent seven hundred dollars on dinner with friends, but considered my mother’s doctor’s visit “an unnecessary expense.”

“It is my money,” I said.

“You are my wife. As long as we live in one house, you cannot spend even one dollar without agreeing with me.”

That night I understood for the first time that his voice had been created to produce fear.

In the morning, before he left the house, I put my bank card, car keys, and some cash into a small yellow bag painted with green apples. My mother had given me this bag last year, when she told me that she had sewn its handle herself.

“Let’s go for a walk today,” I told my mother.

“Where?”

“Somewhere a doctor will see you.”

She did not resist me anymore.

A strong smell of disinfectant filled the clinic. The nurse measured her blood pressure twice, and then Doctor Nikoloz came in. When he placed his hand on her abdomen, his expression changed.

“How long have you been in pain?”

“Several weeks,” I answered.

My mother lowered her eyes.

“Six months.”

I froze.

They performed tests, an ultrasound, and a scan. I was sitting in the corridor when the phone began to ring. Once. Twice. Then five times in a row.

“Where are you?”

“Answer me right now.”

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

I turned off the phone.

An hour later Doctor Nikoloz came out with a folder. He held a small white plastic box in his hand and looked at me as if he was having difficulty choosing the words.

“Linda, come into the room. Close the door.”

He showed me a dark object on the screen.

“This could not have gotten here by itself.”

My mother began to cry quietly.

“Mother, did you know?”

She gripped my hand with unexpected strength.

“Forgive me, child.”

Just then the door opened and Arthur burst in. His breathing was hurried, and his face was red as fire.

“What the hell is going on here?”

For the first time he looked not at my mother, but at the screen.

And the doctor said slowly, almost in a whisper:

“Mr. Arthur, why do you know what is in this image?…”

“Turn off the screen immediately,” Arthur said.

His command was so quick and confident that for several seconds neither Doctor Nikoloz nor I could move. The black-and-white image of my mother’s abdomen flickered on the monitor. In its middle was a small object, like a thin metal capsule.

“How do you know what you are looking at?” I asked.

Arthur blinked at me.

“You used my card. The bank sent me a notification. Then I came to the clinic.”

“I did not use your card.”

“You paid from our joint account.”

“For my mother.”

“That does not change the meaning.”

The doctor stepped in front of me.

“The patient needs treatment first. You will continue the argument in the corridor.”

Arthur moved toward the folder. On his fingers was a silver ring that he always twisted when he lied.

“Give me these images.”

I blocked his way.

“Don’t touch it.”

“Linda, you don’t know what you are doing.”

“For the first time, I know exactly now.”

My mother raised her head from the bed.

“Arthur, enough.”

He turned toward her.

“You are sick and do not understand what you are saying.”

“I am sick, but I still use my mind.”

The circular sound of the machine could be heard in the room. A sticky electrode was attached to my mother’s wrist, its edge slowly coming loose. My knees were trembling so much that I gripped the metal bedrail.

The doctor pressed the folder to his chest.

“This object is pressing against the intestinal wall. It must be removed today. If the inflammation spreads, her life will be in danger.”

“I’ll transfer her to another hospital,” Arthur said.

“Why?” I asked.

“There are better surgeons there.”

“A moment ago you said there was nothing wrong with her.”

His jaw tightened.

“I said it might be a mistake.”

“Then why do you want to take the images?”

This time he had no answer.

The doctor called security and closed the door completely. Outside, the sound of a wheeled stretcher could be heard, and then the quick steps of a nurse in the corridor.

My mother put her hand over mine.

“Look inside the bag,” she told me.

The bag with the yellow apples was on the chair. With trembling hands I opened it. Inside I saw a small plastic box, two paper copies, and an old sewing scissors.

“What is this?”

The color drained from Arthur’s face.

“Elena, don’t you dare.”

“Six months ago I was in your office,” my mother said. “I thought I was looking for a present for Linda’s birthday. I found documents on the desk.”

“She is lying,” Arthur said quickly.

“My name was written there.”

I took out a copy. On the very first line I saw my mother’s full name and date of birth. Beside it was a large sum, so large that my eyes blurred.

“What is this?” I asked Arthur.

“An insurance offer.”

“Why is my mother insured without me knowing?”

“You won’t understand financial matters.”

“Then explain it to me.”

Arthur took a step toward me.

“Give me the paper.”

My mother pressed the bag to her chest.

“That day he tried to take a small device from my hand,” she said. “I had all the copies there. I realized that if I took them home, Arthur would find me. So I chose another way.”

I could not breathe.

“Mother, what did you do?”

She looked at the doctor.

“This object did not enter my body by itself.”

Arthur went to the door and checked the lock.

“Elena, be quiet.”

“I swallowed the little capsule,” my mother said. “So that he could not take it away.”

Complete silence fell over the room. Only the ticking of the monitor could be heard.

“What you want is in there,” she continued. “But the worst thing is that what is written there is not only about money.”

Arthur put his hand on the door handle.

“No one is leaving here until I destroy this.”

Doctor Nikoloz stood in front of him.

“Now you will go outside.”

“You have no idea whom you are fighting.”

“No,” I said, and for the first time I no longer felt fear. “It is you who have no idea.”

The nurse came in with a security officer. Arthur stepped back, but his eyes were still fixed on the small capsule.

Before they took my mother to the operating room, she gripped my fingers.

“If I do not wake up, go to the notary. Tell him the name: Mirian Davis.”

“Who is he?”

“The only person Arthur is afraid of.”

Mother disappeared behind the door. Arthur and I were left alone in the corridor. The anger had disappeared from his face. For the first time I saw that he was afraid.

“Linda, listen to me,” he said. “If you contact Mirian, you will lose everything too.”

“I have already lost it.”

“No. You do not yet know what you will lose.”

Just then my phone, which I thought was turned off, came on. An unknown number appeared on the screen. The call rang only once.

I answered.

On the other side was a calm man’s voice.

“Linda, your mother will not come out of the operation as you think. While the doctors are with her, you must find out whom that policy really belongs to…”

And then he pronounced my name as if he had known me for years…

“Whom does it belong to?” I asked, leaning against the wall.

Arthur stood several steps away from me. In the white light of the hospital corridor, his face suddenly became unfamiliar.

The man on the phone answered me calmly:

“The policy is issued in your mother’s name, but you are not the beneficiary. The beneficiary is Arthur.”

My fingers froze.

“Who are you?”

“Mirian Davis. Your mother’s lawyer. Six months ago Elena brought me copies of the documents. Then she told me that she would protect the device herself.”

Arthur came toward me.

“Hang up the phone.”

“How much is the policy worth?” I asked.

“Two million dollars. With double compensation if the death occurs under the established conditions.”

The last six months flashed before my eyes: Arthur’s persistent questions about my mother’s health, his demand that I not remain alone with my mother, the strange calls he answered by leaving the room.

“What does ‘under the established conditions’ mean?” I asked.

Mirian paused briefly.

“If the death were considered an accident or a natural complication, the investigation would not continue. But there is a recording in the device that changes this.”

Arthur extended his hand to me.

“Linda, give me the phone.”

I stepped back.

“Today you must listen to me for the first time.”

“You do not know what you are doing.”

“Mother knew.”

At that moment the operating-room door opened. Doctor Nikoloz came out and pulled down his mask. In his hand he held a small transparent container. A blood-red capsule could be seen inside.

“The operation went well,” he said. “Your mother is alive, but she will need observation for several days.”

My knees gave way and I sat down on a chair. For the first time that day I managed to exhale completely.

The doctor gave the capsule to the expert sent by Mirian. Two hours later, in a small conference room at the hospital, we were all sitting at the table: me, my mother, who was still breathing weakly, Arthur, Doctor Nikoloz, and Mirian.

The clock on the wall showed eleven at night. My mother’s yellow bag lay on the table. The hand-embroidered apples on its handle no longer matched, because one corner had come loose from the thread.

The expert opened the capsule and took a microcard out of it.

Arthur immediately stood up.

“This is illegally obtained material.”

Mirian looked at him.

“You do not even know what is in it yet.”

“I know.”

The word fell into the room like a heavy object.

The expert played the recording. First Arthur’s voice was heard, quiet, tense, but completely recognizable.

“Her mother’s policy has already been approved. Linda must not understand anything. If Elena goes to the doctor, she will ask all the questions.”

Then another man’s voice was heard.

“And if she refuses?”

Arthur answered:

“She will have no other choice. We will change her medicines, blame the pain on her age. When her condition worsens, everything will look like natural causes.”

My mother closed her eyes. Doctor Nikoloz lowered his head. And I looked at Arthur.

“That is your voice.”

“The recording was edited.”

Mirian opened a second file. This time documents appeared: the policy, Arthur’s signature, transfers, and messages from the account of the company where he worked.

“He used your mother’s identity details,” Mirian said. “He also forged Linda’s signature on the policy.”

Arthur went to the window.

“I was simply trying to save our family.”

“You wanted my mother dead for two million dollars?” I asked.

“You understand nothing.”

“Then explain it to me.”

He looked at me. There was still that old coldness in his eyes, but now there was emptiness in it too.

“I had debts. I lost the company’s money. I thought I could fix it.”

My mother said weakly but clearly:

“You were even ready to kill my daughter when it became necessary.”

Arthur quickly turned his head.

“I did not touch Linda.”

“Not yet,” my mother answered.

Mirian picked up the phone.

“Copies of the recording are already with the prosecutor’s office. Police officers are approaching the building.”

Arthur froze at the window.

I thought everything would end right there. But Mirian’s phone rang. He listened, his face changed, and he turned toward me.

“Linda, we found another change in the policy.”

“What change?”

Before answering, he looked at my mother.

“The change was registered this morning, before the operation. Someone transferred the beneficiary from Arthur to another person.”

“To whom?”

Mirian turned the phone screen toward me.

There was a signature in my name.

But I had never signed this document.

And before the police officers took Arthur out of the room, Mirian quietly told me:

“Arthur is not standing alone behind this forged signature…”