The Other Woman’s Discharge
SHE STARTED CRYING WHEN I READ HER THE NEW PATIENT DISCHARGE
I walked back into the hospital room, ready to read the discharge papers to her, a strange dread settling in my gut. The fluorescent lights hummed with a low buzz, casting a harsh glow that made her pale face look even more fragile against the stark white hospital pillow. She was staring blankly at the window.
A faint, cloying smell of antiseptic and wilting flowers hung heavy in the air, making my nose itch. “You’re reading it wrong,” she suddenly rasped, her voice unexpectedly strong and clear. Her gaze slowly shifted, locking onto me with an intensity that made me shiver.
I looked at the document again, my finger tracing the bolded words. “But Nana, this says you’re going to the… ‘Maplewood Residence for Senior Living’. It’s a beautiful place, new facilities. Your doctor approved it.” Her eyes, usually clouded with age, suddenly sharpened, a cold, knowing flicker I’d never seen before. “No. That’s for *her*. The *other* one. You know the one.”
I started to argue, a wave of nausea washing over me, but then a loud, urgent beep blared from the wall-mounted call button, startling us both. The door swung open immediately, and a nurse bustled in, her expression unreadable beneath her surgical mask, carrying a clipboard.
The nurse looked from my grandmother to me, her smile tight, “Who did you say *she* was?”
👇 Full story continued in the comments…I stammered, “I…I don’t know what she means.” My Nana, her face now a mask of defiance, simply glared at the nurse, her jaw clenched. The nurse, without a word, turned to the wall and efficiently pressed a series of buttons. Then, she turned back to us, her eyes narrowed.
“Madam,” the nurse said, her voice clipped, “we need to get you ready for transport. Your ride is here.” She gestured towards the doorway.
My Nana’s gaze flicked to the door, then back to me, a terrifying understanding dawning in her eyes. A single tear, fat and glistening, rolled down her cheek. It was then that she started crying, silent, shuddering sobs that shook her entire body. The fear in her eyes was palpable, and it mirrored the dread that was steadily consuming me.
The nurse, ignoring the tears, began to efficiently disconnect the IV lines and various monitors, her movements precise and clinical. As she worked, I felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness. I reached for my Nana’s hand, but she pulled away, her gaze fixed on the doorway.
Two orderlies entered the room, their expressions blank, almost robotic. They efficiently began preparing a wheelchair. My Nana, still sobbing, looked at me with such a profound sadness. She mouthed the words, “Don’t let them,” but no sound escaped her lips.
They gently lifted her, placing her carefully in the wheelchair. As they began to wheel her out, I felt a desperate urge to stop them, to scream, to do anything. But I was paralyzed. As they passed me, the nurse touched my arm, her smile the same unsettling mask. “It’s alright, dear. It’s for the best. She’ll be much happier there.”
I watched them disappear down the hallway, the rhythmic squeak of the wheelchair wheels echoing in the sterile quiet. Then, a sudden, blinding flash of light from down the hall caused me to blink. I blinked again, and when I opened my eyes, the hallway was empty, and the room felt strangely silent.
I ran to the window, looking down at the hospital’s exit and the street below. I felt a chilling sensation crawl up my spine, and I realized I was alone. My grandmother was gone. I turned to the discharge papers, and the words blurred before my eyes.
Days later, I made my way to the Maplewood Residence. The receptionist, a pleasant woman with a kind smile, greeted me warmly. “You must be here to see your grandmother,” she said, directing me down a long hallway.
She stopped in front of a door, and opened it to reveal my Nana, sitting in a sunny room, a wide smile upon her face. She looked vibrant and young, almost unrecognizable from the woman I had seen in the hospital.
“Hello, dear,” she said, her voice now clear and bright, with a youthful ring I hadn’t heard in years. “Come in, come in. We have so much to catch up on.”
As I entered the room, the door swung shut behind me. In the dim light, I saw the reflection of two pairs of eyes staring back at me, one old, one young, and the smile that split their faces was far more sinister than I had ever imagined.
The doctor approved it.