Husband's Mistress Kills Mom

The shrill ring of my phone pierced through the quiet Tuesday evening like a blade. I was folding laundry in our bedroom, Alexander's shirts crisp and white in my hands, when the sound made my heart skip.

"Mrs. George?" The voice was urgent, professional. "This is St. Mary's Hospital. Your mother has been brought in by ambulance. She collapsed at home with severe breathing difficulties."

The shirt slipped from my fingers, floating to the floor like a surrendering flag. "What? Is she—"

"She's alive, but her condition is critical. We've had to place her on a ventilator. You need to come immediately."

The drive to the hospital blurred past in fragments—red lights, honking horns, my hands gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. Mom had been fine when I called her that morning. We'd talked about her garden, about the roses she was planning to plant. How could everything change so fast?

The ICU's antiseptic smell hit me the moment the elevator doors opened. My heels clicked against the polished floor as I hurried toward the nurses' station, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Room 314," the nurse said gently, her eyes full of practiced sympathy. "Dr. Chen is with her now."

Nothing could have prepared me for seeing my mother like that. Tubes snaked from her mouth and nose, machines beeped in rhythmic chorus around her bed, and her face—always so animated, so full of life—lay still and pale against the white pillows. Her chest rose and fell with mechanical precision, each breath a gift from the ventilator beside her.

"Mom," I whispered, taking her cool hand in mine. Her wedding ring, loose now on her thin finger, caught the harsh fluorescent light.

Dr. Patricia Chen approached, her expression serious but not hopeless. She was a small woman with kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, her dark hair pulled back in a practical bun.

"Mrs. George, I'm Dr. Chen. I've been treating your mother since she arrived." She pulled up a chair beside me, her voice calm and measured. "She suffered acute respiratory failure. Her lungs filled with fluid, likely due to her underlying heart condition. We acted quickly to stabilize her."

I nodded, trying to process the medical terms while watching my mother's face for any sign of consciousness. "Will she be okay?"

"The ventilator is keeping her stable right now. Her vital signs have improved since we intubated her. With proper treatment and time, there's a good chance she can recover. We'll need to monitor her closely over the next few days, but I'm cautiously optimistic."

Relief flooded through me like warm water. "So the ventilator... it's helping her?"

"Absolutely. It's giving her lungs the rest they need to heal while ensuring her body gets adequate oxygen. Without it, her condition would deteriorate rapidly." Dr. Chen's voice was firm, reassuring. "We'll gradually reduce the support as her lungs recover, but for now, it's essential."

I settled into the uncomfortable plastic chair beside Mom's bed, my hand never leaving hers. The hours passed in a strange suspended animation—nurses checking monitors, the soft whoosh of the ventilator, the distant sounds of the hospital beyond our small, sterile world.

I called Alexander three times before he answered.

"Lily? What's wrong?" His voice sounded distant, distracted.

"It's Mom. She's in the ICU at St. Mary's. She collapsed and they had to put her on a ventilator." The words tumbled out, my voice breaking slightly.

"Oh God. I'll be right there."

But he didn't come alone.

The soft click of heels announced their arrival before I saw them. Alexander appeared in the doorway, his tie loosened and his hair slightly mussed, but it was the woman beside him that made my stomach clench. Scarlett Rivera stood there in a flowing white dress that seemed to shimmer under the hospital lights, her long auburn hair cascading over her shoulders like she'd stepped out of a magazine.

"How is she?" Alexander asked, moving toward the bed, but his eyes kept darting to Scarlett, who remained hovering near the entrance.

"Stable, thanks to the ventilator. Dr. Chen says with time and proper treatment, she has a good chance of recovery."

Scarlett wrinkled her nose, her perfectly manicured hand rising to cover her mouth. "Oh my God, Alexander, this energy is so oppressive. I can barely breathe in here." Her voice carried that breathy quality she used when she wanted attention, like a child playing at being delicate.

I stared at her, incredulous. My mother was fighting for her life, and she was complaining about the atmosphere?

"Hospitals are just... toxic environments," Scarlett continued, stepping closer to Alexander as if seeking protection from the sterile air. "All this artificial intervention, these machines... they block the body's natural healing energy. Your mother would probably recover so much better in a peaceful, positive space where her spirit can truly heal."

The audacity of her words hit me like a physical blow. I looked at Alexander, waiting for him to tell her how inappropriate she was being, how insensitive her comments were at a time like this.

Instead, he nodded slowly, his brow furrowed as if he was actually considering her words.