The Lie Of That Night Chapter 02
The moment Gretchen clawed her way back to consciousness, she bolted upright. The movement ripped cruelly at her surgical incision, and a wave of agonizing pain turned her vision black.
But the fire in her heart burned hotter than the pain.
Where was her daughter?
Her bare feet hit the cold floor, but before she could take a step, a massive force jerked her back.
“Have you caused enough trouble yet, Gretchen?”
Terrence’s face was a mask of thunder, his voice laced with frost. “Get back in bed.”
“Where is my daughter? What did you do with her? Terrence, give her back to me!”
She shrieked, her fingernails raking across the back of his hand, leaving deep, bloody welts.
“Get a grip on yourself!”
Terrence let out a low growl. “The child was stillborn. You couldn’t handle the shock — you’ve fallen into a postpartum psychosis. Your memories are completely distorted.”
“You’re lying! I heard her cry. I saw her on that operating table; it was you…”
Gretchen’s desperate defense was violently cut short.
“Enough!”
Terrence flung her away with brutal force. “You are truly far gone. I’ve brought in the best psychiatrists.”
The ward doors swung open, and a line of medical staff filed in, clutching those all-too-familiar restraint straps.
Gretchen’s pupils shrank. Fear and fury crashed over her in equal measure.
“No! Don’t come near me! What are you doing? Terrence, tell them to get out! I’m not crazy!”
She scrambled backward, seizing pillows and water glasses to hurl at them, but she was easily overpowered.
They cinched the straps around her limbs, the leather biting into her skin, pinning her to the bed in a death grip.
Soon, she was wheeled into a treatment room.
“Mrs. Mendez, relax. We are simply here to help you correct some… confused memories.”
“Your daughter had no vital signs at birth. It’s right here in the obstetric record.”
“Everything you think you ‘saw’ is merely a delusion born of extreme grief.”
No! It wasn’t a delusion! That cry was real!
The warmth of that tiny body was real!
She didn’t even get to hold her; she didn’t even get to…
Cold electrodes were pressed against her temples.
“Begin.”
The instant the current surged through her, the world dissolved into a blinding white light.
Her consciousness was violently shredded, pulverized, as if being seared on a red-hot griddle.
The agony transcended the physical; it struck the very core of her soul.
Her body convulsed violently. She bit through her lip, and the metallic tang of blood filled her mouth.
Eternities later, Gretchen lay limp on the bed, her vision a blurred smear.
A doctor leaned over her. “Mrs. Mendez, have you remembered? Your daughter died the moment she was born.”
“There was no surgery. No bone marrow extraction. Those were tragic fantasies concocted by your fractured mind.”
She parted her lips, wanting to scream her dissent.
No… that was not…
But the next round of “therapy” followed shortly after.
The treatment lasted for three agonizing sessions.
Each time, Gretchen teetered on the brink of total collapse under the torture of the electricity, only to wake in a drug-induced stupor.
She had seen her daughter only once; she hadn’t even had the chance to give her a name.
Every “treatment” felt like a slow, systematic execution of her true memories.
Hatred began to spread like a cancer, taking deep, permanent root in her heart.
As the final MECT session ended, Gretchen lay drenched in sweat on the cold table.
The doctor spoke again. “Mrs. Mendez, can you recall now? What happened when your daughter was born?”
Her throat was parched and tight; her stomach churned with bile.
Gretchen’s lips trembled as she forced out the answer she had been trained a thousand times to give.
“My daughter… she was dead when she was born… I remembered it wrong…”
The doctor pushed up his glasses, a satisfied smile touching his lips.
“Excellent, Mrs. Mendez. Your cognition is recovering. Rest for a moment, then you can prepare for your discharge.”
On the day she left the hospital, Terrence came in person.
Paulina stood beside him, dressed in an exquisite suit, holding the hand of a little girl about three years old. The child, wearing a puffy princess dress, looked around with wide, curious eyes.
“Ricky, come here,” Paulina called softly.
Roderick had grown taller, his features more closely mirroring Terrence’s.
But the look he gave Gretchen was one of naked estrangement and contempt.
Gretchen went rigid, her blood running cold.
That was his son. That was the boy she gave birth to.
“Gretchen,” Terrence began, his tone carrying its usual weight of cold scrutiny. “Do you realize your mistakes now?”
Gretchen nodded slowly.
Looking at her — numb, submissive, and utterly devoid of life — Terrence felt an unexpected prick of discomfort.
A faint, fleeting sense of bitterness brushed against him.
He did, in fact, wrong her.
He averted his eyes, his voice carrying a note of hollow charity. “Let the past be the past. Your daughter’s death was simply fate. From now on…”
He paused, gently guiding the little girl forward. “This is Julia. You may treat her as your own daughter. Paulina has agreed to it.”
The girl was pushed toward Gretchen. She tilted her head up, her large eyes blinking innocently.
Gretchen’s gaze locked onto the child’s face. That youthful visage instantly overlapped with the tiny body she had seen in the operating room that night.
Hatred erupted like a volcano, scorching her insides and sending her into uncontrollable tremors.
“Get away!”
Julia was so startled she tumbled to the ground, bursting into a loud wail.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Paulina’s face darkened, her voice reaching a sharp, shrill pitch.
Almost simultaneously, a small figure slammed into Gretchen, knocking her back.
Roderick stood with his arms outstretched, a fierce shield in front of the sobbing girl.
His small face was flushed with rage as he glared at Gretchen.
“Don’t you dare bully Julia! And don’t you ever bully my mommy!”
The boy’s chest heaved with fury. “Daddy said you’re a bad woman! You’re the mistress trying to break up our family! I’m going to protect my mommy and Julia!”
Every word stabbed into Gretchen’s heart and tore through her.
The pain was so absolute that her throat seized; she couldn’t make a sound, her eyes burning with a searing ache.
“Ricky…”
She opened her mouth, her voice a ragged, desperate roar. “I am… I am your mother…”
Then, a heavy, ringing blow landed across her face.