We Need to Talk

We Need to Talk
Susan then turned away from the standing mirror slowly, her fingers lingering on the edge of the glass for half a second before she withdrew them. Her reflection disappeared from her view as she wheeled herself toward the nightstand beside her bed. The movement was steady, practiced— too practiced for a woman who hadn’t always lived this way.

Her phone rested on the polished surface of the nightstand.

She reached for it, her fingers closing around the smooth edges, and the screen lit up instantly as the phone recognized her face. The brightness reflected faintly in her eyes.

Before she could even tap anything, a notification expanded across the screen.

Doctor’s Appointment — Today.

Her lips parted slightly.

“It’s today,” she muttered to herself, her voice low, almost breathless. Her eyes remained fixed on the screen as if it might disappear if she blinked. Then she exhaled softly and added, “Let me start preparing.”

She placed the phone back on the nightstand carefully, aligning it neatly beside the lamp as if the order might give her some control. Then she turned her wheelchair toward the restroom door.

The wheels rolled quietly across the marble floor.

She reached the door and wrapped her fingers around the handle, her grip firm as she prepared to push it open. She paused.

Her hand remained on the handle.

Her shoulders stiffened.

Why don’t you go meet Joseph and inform him about the appointment? a thought crossed her mind. It’s his child also. You should be going together, not alone. He’s ignored you enough— no more.

Her jaw tightened.

“He won’t follow you,” another thought countered immediately, sharp and dismissive.

Her fingers flexed around the handle.

“He has to,” a second thought pushed back, louder this time. If he tries bringing up excuses not to go, you demand it of him. You remind him the child you’re carrying is his.

A bitter scoff escaped her lips.

“Do you think he cares?” another thought countered again, colder than the rest.

Her hand slipped from the handle.

She stared at the door for a moment longer, then shook her head slightly.

“There’s only one way to find out,” she muttered to herself.

She turned the wheelchair away from the restroom door and redirected herself toward her bedroom door instead. The wheels pivoted smoothly as she rolled forward and exited the room.

The hallway outside stretched long and wide, its polished floors gleaming beneath the morning light. Ornate statues lined the walls— marble figures frozen in elegance and wealth. Chandeliers hung overhead, their crystals catching the light.

Susan barely noticed any of it.

Her eyes were fixed straight ahead, her hands firm on the wheels as she propelled herself forward with quiet determination. Every thought in her mind was focused on one thing— Joseph. The man she called her husband.

She wheeled herself down the hallway, passing door after door, when two housemaids appeared ahead of her, walking in the opposite direction. Their steps slowed when they saw her.

Both of them smiled instantly.

“Morning, ma,” they greeted in unison, bowing slightly.

“Morning,” Susan responded with her own polite smile as she wheeled past them.

She had barely gone a few feet when one of the maids tilted her head and shook it slowly.

“What a pity,” the maid said mockingly, her voice low but not low enough.

The other maid frowned slightly. “What?”

“Can’t you see that her legs have been taken away from her?” the first maid replied, her lips curling into a grin.

Both of them glanced over their shoulders at the same time.

Susan continued wheeling forward, her back to them, her posture straight.

Behind her, the two maids chuckled quietly, the sound filled with cruel amusement.

Susan heard them clearly.

Every word.

Every laugh.

Her fingers tightened on the wheels, but she didn’t stop. She didn’t turn back. Her face remained composed as she continued forward, pushing herself onward as if nothing had been said.

When she finally reached Joseph’s wing, the atmosphere shifted. The hallway was quieter, guarded.

Two SS agents stood stationed at the entrance.

As soon as they saw her, they straightened.

“Morning, ma,” they greeted in unison, bowing slightly, professional smiles fixed on their faces.

“Morning,” Susan replied with a controlled smile. Then she asked, “Is my husband around?”

“Yes, ma’am. He should be in his room,” one of the agents responded immediately.

“Okay,” Susan said.

She wheeled herself forward, passing them, when the other agent spoke again.

“Did you inform him that you were coming?” he asked cautiously. “Mr. Governor does not like being bothered at this hour of the day.”

Susan scoffed, the sound sharp and unmistakable.

She continued wheeling forward without looking back at them.

“He’s my husband,” she said coldly, her voice carrying as she moved away, “I can choose to visit him whenever the fuck I want.”

She didn’t slow down.

She reached the towering doors to Joseph’s master bedroom and lifted her hand. She knocked once—gentle but firm—and immediately pushed the door open.

“Who’s that?” Joseph called out sharply.

He was seated upright on the bed, the sheets pooled around his waist, irritation clear on his face at the interruption.

His eyes lifted—

—and the disgust on his face vanished instantly.

It was replaced with a flat, unreadable expression.

“It’s you,” he said coolly.

Susan wheeled closer to him, stopping at the side of the bed. Her face was calm, but her eyes burned with restrained emotion.

“Yeah,” she replied almost instantly, “it’s me.”

She met his gaze directly.

“We need to talk.”