I have spent three hours, doing nothing but sitting still, gazing at the man I married. I despise him and hold him in contempt. I detest his handsome yet arrogant and malevolent face. I loathe his towering, powerful figure every time he gets angry and threatens me. I spit on the hand that wears the wedding ring on my finger, disgusted whenever he touches my body. There are countless things I detest about him. But why, at this very moment, can I no longer hate him? I cannot harbour even a trace of resentment towards him. Because now, I dare not be certain if Augustin will ever wake up again!

I do not shed tears when I see him like this, yet my heart is filled with profound sadness and immense pity. Lady Rose has cried until she fainted, and Sir Lionel is conversing with the finest doctors to heal his legs. Yesterday, Augustin's platoon fell into an ambush, and Great Britain suffered heavy losses. Augustin was affected by a bomb explosion, and his spine was injured. He fell into a coma, and the doctors say he will wake up, but a large percentage of his lower body will be paralyzed. I have spent these three hours contemplating how I will receive this dreadful news, and I still find it unbelievable that this has happened. Regardless of everything, Augustin is still my husband, the one who shared my bed for all these years, the father of my two daughters. Among those who wished ill upon Augustin, I would be the last on that list. Above all, I simply wanted to escape from him, but now, my heart refuses to leave.

I grasp his cold, icy hand, overwhelmed by a terrible sense of self-consciousness. He is a man covered in wounds, some just healed, some still oozing blood on hastily stitched threads. I did not realise that I had shed tears for him until a drop fell onto the pristine white blanket covering him. If all of this had not occurred, I would not have married him, and these pains would surely not exist. Between the two of us, we could have been kindred spirits. Even more challenging, I do not know how to explain to my daughter about her father. Francine has never met him, all she knows about her biological father is a man in a photograph. Francine is too young to understand such things.

"What are those tears for? Isn't that what you wanted? You evil woman!"

The voice filled with resentment from Lady Rose resonates hauntingly behind me, causing me to startle and rise to my feet. She charges forward, "rewarding" me with a slap on the cheek, so strong that the outline of her hand is clearly imprinted on my skin. I recoil, falling flat on the floor, my face in disbelief as I gaze at my enraged mother-in-law. Never have I seen her look so terrifying. But there is something beyond that anger, something only someone like me can recognize. We are both mothers to someone!

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Lady Rose clenches tightly onto the hand that no longer reacts, bitter tears streaming from those heavy, swollen eyes. I stand in a corner of the room, observing her engulfed in endless pain. Even from this distance, I can sense the inner turmoil within her. I cannot blame my mother-in-law for such a normal reaction; on the contrary, I empathise with her even more.

"Augustin has always been our most difficult child..." Lady Rose confesses, her voice choked with sorrow. "Premature birth, surviving a paralysing fever at the age of four, suffering from a reading disorder... We thought we had lost Augustin to the clutches of death!"

"Augustin will wake up soon, Mother..." I speak gently.

"Don't speak as if everything will be alright, Fiona!" she exclaims. "You know nothing is alright! You always wanted our son to die so you could mourn with the one you love!"

"I have never had such thoughts, Mother!" I interject. "The relationship between me and Augustin is beyond salvage, but I have never cursed him. Augustin, regardless of everything, is still Francine's father. How could I entertain such an idea?"

"How do I know what you truly think?" she shakes her head, looking at me with bitter eyes. "What are you doing now? While my poor son lies in bed with no hope."

"I swear..."

"I don't want to hear another word from you, Fiona!" she cuts me off decisively. "Get out of my sight! Since you entered this house, you have brought nothing but misfortune!"

What more can I say? Before leaving the room, I still linger for a moment to look at them. The elderly mother still huddles beside her beloved son. I no longer recognize her as the proud and self-proclaimed superior Lady Rose; I only see the image of a grieving mother weeping for her child. Despite her repeated humiliations and curses, I cannot hold onto anger in my heart. I wish I could continue to harbour this grudge, but when I put myself in her position, I shake my head and let it go. It turns out there are more similarities between me and Lady Rose than we had imagined.