After the accident, I was lying in hospital when my mother-in-law turned up with my little boy; he handed me a bottle of orange juice and, out of the blue, whispered, Gran said you should drink this, but she told me not to say anything else.
The crash, where the driver just sped off and left me, had left me in a right state. The doctors spoke carefully, only saying the bare minimum, and my husband barely said a word, just stood awkwardly by the door most of the time. My mother-in-law pretty much took over everythingpaperwork, who was allowed to visit, all the conversations. I was too weak to argue.
That afternoon, the door to my hospital room nudged open and she came in first, holding my sons hand. He looked terribly serious for someone so young, almost as if he already knew this wasnt a place for giggling or too many questions.
She put him beside my bed, flashed a stretched little smile and said she wouldnt keep us longjust so the boy wont worry too much. Then she drifted over to the window, pretending to give us a bit of privacy.
My son climbed up onto my bed, settled himself awkwardly next to me and held out a bottle of bright orange juice. I took it without thinking, my hands shaking uncontrollably.
He leaned closer, cupped his hand over his mouth and whispered so lightly I could barely hear him, Gran said you should drink this if I want a new, prettier mummy but she said I shouldnt tell you anything else.
I froze. The juice was cold, much too vibrant, definitely not the sort of thing youd get with hospital meals. Suddenly the room felt cramped, and I sensed my husband standing silently by the door behind me. My mother-in-law was still gazing out the window like nothing was happening, but I felt her watching every move.
Very slowly, I put the bottle down on the sheets and secretly poured it onto the floor, pretending Id drunk it. In that moment, I made up my mindI had to find out what my mother-in-law was up to and why shed used my own child to do it. The truth absolutely horrified me.
When they left, I just stared at this orange liquid, turning it over in my mind. After the accident, with my fresh stitches and blood loss, the doctors had been harping on: nothing apart from what they prescribed. Anything else could be seriously dangerous.
In the morning, I asked the on-duty doctor to check the contents of the juice bottle. Didnt make a fuss, just quietly said I wasnt sure about it.
By that evening, the results were in.
Inside that bottle were drugs that thin the blood and can trigger internal bleeding. For an ordinary person, it might not have been lethal. But for someone with fresh wounds, like me, it could spell disaster.
It would have meant internal bleeding, a sudden collapse and, as the doctor put it, entirely unpredictable complications.
He sat in silence for ages before asking who brought me the drink. I told him the truth.
He closed the folder and quietly said if Id drunk even half, they might not have been able to save me through the night.
At that point, everything just clicked into place. My mother-in-law knew exactly what was going on with meshed grilled the doctors, pretended she cared. She knew about my surgery, my stitches, the risks. She knew I shouldnt touch anything like that.
And yet she still brought my son to me, handed him the bottle and told him to keep it a secret.
That evening, when my husband came by, I handed him the doctors report. He stared at it, then at me, like hed never seen me before.
She said it was just juice to help you get your strength back, he stammered.
I didnt say a word.
Because by that point, Id already decided: when I leave hospital, I wont just be a wounded woman. Ill be someone who never lets people like her anywhere near me again.
