Chapter 3: DIVORCE 1
Harlow staggered a little and the nurse in there held her quickly. No, she wasn't hearing correctly, her son cannot die. Alex was very fine before she left him yesterday evening to take care of old Mrs Hamilton. Even if his breathing wasn't normal, he had been that way for weeks now.
The doctor had told her he had passed the critical stage and was stable, but the surgery would be needed fast. He mentioned the surgery was a 70-50% chance of survival and that he would. So how is he dead now?
"No, you're lying." She said with a shaky voice, tears streaming from her eyes.
"I'm afraid not Mrs Hamilton. Alex wanted to see your husband before the surgery, he cried and said he wanted to speak to him. We tried reaching you both but couldn't get to you. And then you were rushed in here." He paused. "We tried our best Mrs Hamilton." The doctor hung up.
"No." Harlow ran out of the room, but this time the nurse didn't stop her, she had also heard the news this morning too, and that is the reason she had been anxious. All of the nurses recognized Harlow when she was rushed in here because this hospital has been like a new home to her for weeks now. The little boy Alex, young and kind was a happy kid. His illness, though serious, there was still a slight chance of survival, but they didn't understand how he died.
Harlow ran like a mad woman across the halls. Her son is in one of the private rooms on the last floor. This must be a prank, there's no way her Alex is dead. It's not possible. Alex is a strong child, he promised to be strong for her. He promised to live for her.
When Harlow arrived on the last floor, her stomach contracted, a painful stretch in her abdomen, but she held it in and kept running. It might be as a result of the accident. None of her pain mattered, all she wanted to know was that the doctor was pranking her and that her son was fine.
Two doors to Alex's ward, his room door flew open to two people pushing a corpse out of Alex's room. The patient was covered in a white long sheet, covering their face from the world. She ran to them, shaking her head.
"Who's this, tell me it's not my son. Tell me it's not my Alex?" The nurses who pushed little Alex didn't know where to start from. This woman was also a patient who needed rest, seeing the bruises on her body and bandage, she could tell she was one of the emergency patients rushed in last night.
"We are so sorry ma'am." She said.