A Bitter Taste Of Truth

Olivia

Later at night, I stepped out of the bedroom, lost in thought, my damp hair wrapped in a towel. The cool air kissed my skin, sending a shiver down my spine as I pulled my robe tighter around my body.

I need to speak to him about my pain. I need him to know how desperately I want a child. I was so lost in thoughts when I heard a knock on the door.

I exhaled slowly, steadying myself. Great. What now?

“Coming,” I called out, forcing my voice into something that didn’t betray my exhaustion. When I opened the door, Mrs. Roger stood there, her face impassive, a silver tray balanced in her hands.

“Madam, your tonic.” A bitter taste filled my mouth before I even took a sip. My stomach twisted violently, recoiling at the mere sight of it.

Lord Have Mercy. This. Again. That damn concoction-dark, murky, reeking of herbs that never failed to churn my insides. I didn’t need to ask who had sent it, but I did anyway.

“Did my mother-in-law send this?”

Mrs. Roger hesitated, and that tiny flicker of pause was all I needed. Then, she nodded. Of course.

A special remedy, they had called it.

Crafted by the best herbalists, designed to heal, to help, to fix whatever was wrong with me. A sacred elixir, they said, meant to prepare my body for pregnancy.

But I had seen the reports. The tests. The cold, sterile rooms filled with doctors who looked at me with pity in their eyes. My womb was fine. My body was fine.

So why wasn’t I pregnant? I swallowed down the familiar sting of frustration, my fingers curling into the fabric of my robe.

“Would you like me to take this back?” Mrs. Roger’s voice was gentle, hesitant, like she already knew what I wanted to say.

God, yes. I wanted to hurl that disgusting thing straight out the window. Wanted to scream, Stop shoving this poison down my throat. Stop acting like I’m broken!

But I knew the rules of this game.

If I refused, it would reach her ears. And when it did, she’d come with her soft voice and sharp words, her perfectly rehearsed disappointment. You are not fulfilling your duty, Olivia.

I could already hear her.

So, I forced my lips into something that resembled a smile and nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Roger. I’ll drink it.”

She bowed slightly before leaving me alone with it.

Alone with the tonic.

Alone with the suffocating reality that no one saw me. Only my womb.

I lifted the bowl to my lips, my pulse hammering against my throat. The first sip was sharp, burning like liquid fire down my throat, coating my tongue in something rancid, something cruel.

My entire body revolted. A gag crawled up my throat, my stomach twisting in protest. I barely made it to the bedroom before nausea won. I collapsed against the bathroom sink, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, my stomach still lurching.

The tonic sat heavy inside me, mixing with the bitterness of resentment. I needed to talk to Leonard. I needed him to hear me.

Steeling myself, I stepped out of the bathroom, my steps careful, calculated. He was exactly where I expected him to be-at his desk, bathed in the glow of his laptop, his fingers tapping against the keyboard in rapid succession.

He didn’t even notice me entering.

“Babe,” I finally said, my voice soft, careful.

He hummed, a distracted acknowledgment, his eyes never leaving the screen.

I swallowed. “Please, I’d like to talk to you about something.” That made him pause. He sighed, closing his laptop with a soft click before turning to face me. His dark eyes met mine, searching, sensing the shift in the air.

“What’s the problem, baby?” My fingers tightened around the hem of my shirt as I forced the words out. “Why don’t we have a child, my love?”

His face barely changed, but I saw it-the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his chest stilled for just a second too long.

“It’s risky”.

“You had an eye transplant years ago. Getting pregnant might not be the best idea for you right now”.

There it was. The same excuse. The same gentle, well-rehearsed rejection. He reached toward the nightstand, picking up a small pill between his fingers.

“Please, my dear,” he murmured, pressing it into my palm. “Take this. I insist.”

The pill was always the answer.

It was how he silenced me, how he made the conversation disappear. A tiny, round, white rejection.

My hands trembled as I took it. I didn’t fight him this time. I couldn’t. I just swallowed it with the glass of water he handed me. And then, as if nothing had happened-as if my quiet devastation didn’t exist-his voice darkened.

“Come here, baby. Let me have all of you.”

***

Later, as he slept beside me, I lay in the darkness, restless. The tonic and the pill swirled inside me, making my stomach churn with something more than nausea. Something heavy. Something suffocating.

Then, my body couldn’t take it anymore.

I bolted from the bed, rushing to the bathroom, collapsing to my knees before the toilet.

My stomach twisted violently, and I retched, my body rejecting it all-the bile, the pill, the bitter taste of everything I had been forced to swallow.

When it was over, I wiped my mouth, weak and trembling.

And then, as I made my way back to bed, something caught my eye.

Leonard’s phone.

It was blinking. I hesitated, my heart pounding as I reached for it. The screen glowed in the dark, a single message staring back at me.

Bintu Hospital.

The same hospital where I had my eye transplant.

My breath hitched as I read the words beneath it.

“Miss Elena is awake, sir. They can proceed at any time.”

Elena?

My blood ran cold.

Who the hell was Elena?

And why was Leonard involved with her?