PART ONE
Chapter Five: The Annual Test
The hospital smelled like disinfectant and something faintly metallic.
Margret noticed it the moment they stepped through the sliding glass doors—the sharp cleanliness that made her throat feel dry. Hospitals had always unsettled her. Too much waiting. Too many quiet fears sitting side by side.
"This won't take long," David said, walking ahead of her.
Margret adjusted her bag on her shoulder and followed, her steps slower. Lucia had gone to school that morning, waving cheerfully as if nothing in the world could touch her. Margret had watched her go with an ache she couldn't explain.
The annual medical checkup had been David's idea.
"Routine," he'd said casually weeks ago. "We should be responsible."
Margret had agreed immediately. Responsibility was something she still believed in. Marriage, to her, was built on it—shared duties, shared care, shared risks.
They checked in at the front desk. The nurse smiled professionally, handed them forms, and pointed them toward the waiting area.
David sat stiffly, scrolling through his phone. Margret sat beside him, her hands folded tightly in her lap.
"You're tense," she said quietly.
David didn't look up. "I'm fine."
Margret watched him for a moment, then looked away. Around them, people waited—some alone, some together, some whispering, some staring blankly ahead. A pregnant woman laughed softly with her partner. An elderly man coughed into a handkerchief.
Life happening. Fragile. Ordinary.
Margret felt a sudden urge to leave.
When the nurse called their names, David stood immediately. Margret followed.
They were separated for initial checks—blood pressure, weight, routine questions. Margret answered honestly, though her voice felt distant to her own ears.
"Any new symptoms?" the nurse asked.
"No," Margret replied after a brief pause.
She thought of the occasional fatigue, the headaches she'd blamed on stress. She did not mention them.
Blood was drawn. The needle prick was quick, sharp, then gone. Margret watched the vial fill, red against clear plastic. Something about it made her uneasy.
David was called in shortly after. Margret waited alone, listening to the faint sounds of movement beyond the walls.
When they were finally called together to see the doctor, Margret's heart began to beat faster. She told herself it was nothing. Annual tests always came with a little anxiety. Everyone felt this way.
The doctor, a middle-aged man with tired eyes, greeted them politely.
"Please, have a seat," he said.
Margret sat, smoothing her skirt. David crossed his arms.
The doctor glanced at the file, then back at them. His expression shifted—subtle, but Margret noticed. She had always been good at reading faces.
"Some of your test results came back," the doctor began carefully.
Margret leaned forward slightly.
"There are a few things we need to discuss."
David stiffened.
The room felt suddenly smaller.
"I'll be direct," the doctor continued. "Your HIV test came back positive."
The words landed, but did not immediately make sense.
Margret blinked. Once. Twice.
"I'm sorry?" she said.
David stood abruptly. "That's impossible."
The doctor raised a hand. "Please, let me explain—"
"No," David snapped. "That's not right."
Margret felt dizzy. "You're saying… both of us?"
The doctor nodded slowly. "Yes."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Margret's ears rang. Her mind searched desperately for understanding, for context, for something that made this moment unreal. She felt as though the floor had shifted beneath her feet.
"I—I've never—" she began, then stopped.
David laughed sharply, the sound brittle. "This is ridiculous."
The doctor remained calm. "I understand this is difficult. We will run confirmatory tests, but—"
David turned to Margret, his face twisting with fury. "What did you do?"
The words hit her like a slap.
"What?" Margret whispered.
"You brought this into my house," David said loudly. "You cheated on me."
Margret's breath caught. "No. I didn't."
David's voice rose. "Don't lie."
The doctor stood. "Please lower your voices—"
"I trusted you," David continued, ignoring him. "And this is what you give me?"
People outside the office turned to look. Margret felt exposed, stripped bare in a room full of strangers.
"I have never cheated on you," she said, her voice shaking. "Never."
David scoffed. "Then explain this."
Margret looked at the doctor helplessly. "There must be a mistake."
The doctor spoke gently. "We'll repeat the test, but it's important we talk about next steps—treatment, counseling—"
David slammed his hand against the desk. "This is your fault," he spat at Margret.
Margret shrank back in her chair. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest.
"I didn't do anything," she whispered.
David turned away from her, pacing. "Unbelievable."
The doctor cleared his throat. "I strongly recommend we continue this conversation calmly."
David grabbed his jacket. "We're done here."
He stormed out of the room.
Margret sat frozen, tears blurring her vision.
"I'm so sorry," the doctor said softly. "Please know this is manageable with treatment."
She nodded numbly, barely hearing him.
Outside, David stood near the exit, his jaw clenched.
"How could you?" he demanded as she approached.
Margret shook her head, tears spilling freely now. "I don't understand. I swear to you—"
"Save it," David snapped. "Everyone will know what kind of woman you are."
Margret felt something inside her collapse.
They drove home in silence.
The city passed by in a blur. Margret stared out the window, her reflection staring back at her—pale, unfamiliar.
When they reached the house, David went straight to the bedroom and shut the door. Margret stood alone in the living room, her legs weak.
She thought of Lucia. Of her laughter that morning. Of her innocence.
That night, Margret lay awake, staring at the ceiling. David did not speak to her. His back was turned, his body rigid.
Margret pressed a hand to her mouth to keep from sobbing.
She replayed the doctor's words again and again. Positive. Treatment. Manageable.
But none of it explained how.
She had been faithful. Loyal. Careful.
Somewhere, deep inside her, a truth began to take shape—slow, terrifying, undeniable.
The crack had finally broken through.
And everything that followed would bleed from it.