It didn’t take a week for authorities to secure the head doctor’s home after the graduation incident, checking every drawer, table and containers of paper works and studies. What they found instead was a pristine household that barely held any vibrant color or signs of any family that was supposed to live in there. The doctor was a married man said the investigation. Oddly enough there weren’t any displays of child materials, or even signs of the wife. They didn’t make a mistake in the address, did they? Nonetheless after hours of searching, one authority found a small notebook inside a cupboard. A diary it would seem. Untouched with visible growing dusts on it.
In it, with the last entry that dated almost two years ago, wrote:
“April 3rd, 20xx
It happened again. My second son, after being diagnosed with a mysterious sickness like my first daughter, later died in the hospital while I was away. My husband said that the doctors did their best… but I couldn’t help but feel that these were no coincidences. My heart, my being… all were torn apart. The pain even greater because it was the second time. I just didn’t know what to do anymore.
While I grieved over the loss, my husband seemed angrier. I sometimes heard him muttering weird things too. During the first loss of our child, we consoled each other and decided on me bearing another. He was insistent about it, far more than I was. It was traumatic for me, as the mother who carried my Sasha for nine months and cared for her until she was four. Then the sickness hit her like no warning. My husband was the one who took her to his colleague’s clinic, aiding her until she got better. But no sooner than a month, Sasha died. That was then my husband’s temper changed. I could probably guess it was because of the clinic’s incompetence that he was very angry about. Who wouldn’t?
But then, with Ross who died far sooner than Sasha, my husband once again took our son to the same clinic when my child got sick too. I had no time to be suspicious with it; it drove me crazy just thinking about Ross and all the same signs he displayed like Sasha did. Ross died too. My husband’s temper doubled at that.
One evening he cornered me, this time of no endearing emotions behind it, telling me to get pregnant again. That we’d do it then and there. I know the sadness was too much to handle; I was already considering not to get pregnant any time soon because I wasn’t over with Sasha and Ross but my husband showed the same insistence he had before. Bear me a child, he said. It was as if it was the easiest thing for me to do. Or for this family.
When I said no and that I wasn’t ready just yet, he raised his fist and hit me straight on the cheeks. He muttered weird things again, words that seemed like “prototypes,” “subjects” and “studies.” I wasn’t too sure back then. All I could remember was the pain on my face and my heart breaking much much more.
My husband seemed to spend more time in his lab — a place so far away from our home — after that. And he was growing more distant than ever. When I told my family about him hitting me, my sister ordered me to get away as soon as I could. But I simply couldn’t leave the man I love. I was sticking with him, as we promised during our marriage.
But then perhaps I should have listened to my sister after all. These bruises that won’t fade away, these swellings that won’t subside. I got into more hitting when I kept repeating to him that I wasn’t ready for a child every time he asked. Everything… wasn’t the same no more.
My husband looked like someone I didn’t know anymore. My husband behaved like someone who wasn’t he. He won’t listen to me no matter how much I tried talking with him. Our connection together felt like it wasn’t there at all.
I packed my belongings and left without a note after the last beating that made me almost crippled, except leaving this diary in hopes he’d see it to realize what he did to me.
My love, please, if ever you finally read this, please come back to me. Let’s go back to how we were before. We can still move forward together despite these hardships.”