1. The Frame Up
Laura Dickson-Williams' Bedroom
"Today’s the day," she resolved. “I will goad him into a fight. Then everyone will see the monster he is - a penniless fraud who trapped me. With that, I will leave this marriage based on domestic violence. I don't understand why he will not accept my proposal for a divorce.”
The twenty-one-year-old Laura woke up sadly and stared at the ceiling, resentment coiling in her chest when she remembered that she had scores to settle with her poor husband, twenty-five-year-old Tim Williams, who had hidden his real identity.
“We are no longer in the same league. I want to marry a real man and not a penniless and classless man,” she said to herself, and angrily sat up in her bed.
“How can I meet a competent person if I'm still married to a scumbag?” she grumbled.
Likewise, she threw her duvet off and tried to get out of bed, but halted when the door creaked open. Her husband, peered in, his usual gentle concern etched on his face.
“It's time for work, Laura,” he informed her cheerfully.
Her mocking laugh was sharp as glass.
“So, you know work but can't get one for yourself? You wretched pauper.”
Tim smiled softly, a fragile shield against her venom. And gave his regular response, “I will work when the time comes, my dear.”
His laissez-faire approach to her chastisements often angered her and she made it clear to him, “Here you go again. Good for nothing fellow. We have been together for three years and you have nothing to show for it.”
Tim swallowed hard and smiled as though he did not hear her. He had heard that several times since she got her job. He sat beside her and to his surprise, she slapped him so hard and roared, “Get out of my room.”
Notwithstanding, he smiled dryly and asked her, “Did you hit me, Laura?”
She ignored his question and got out of bed. He stood up too and fueled by rage, she launched herself at him. He caught her wrists, easily restraining her from hitting him again. His grip was firm but careful. With a final, warning look, he released her and stepped back into the hallway.
"Worthless bastard!" she screamed after him and bolted to the bathroom. "All you’re good for is knocking me up!" The slam of the bathroom door punctuated her fury.
"This marriage ends today. Pregnancy or not."
In The Parlor
Tim took a deep breath before he sat down on the dining chair. Without delay, he looked at his cross-body bag which contained his heirloom.
“I was patient with her when she could not get a job, through the trauma after the attack and rape by some soldiers, through the struggle to conceive. Why can’t she show me an ounce of that patience?” He murmured.
Soon, Laura swept in, radiating corporate power in her sharp suit. She worked as a secretary to the President of Auxiliary Armory PLC, a government-owned military company. She enjoyed so much entitlement and was highly respected in the country.
Without opening the dishes, she flared up, hit him in the eye, and warned him, “Get a job for yourself and stop eating my food.”
“Stop,” he commanded, and held her hands tightly.
To his astonishment, she began crying at the top of her lungs.
“Help. He wished to kill me. Somebody help me.”
At that point, her team of security, who were waiting for her in the courtyard, were alerted, and the Head of Security rushed into the house.
“What happened, Mrs. Dickson-Williams?” He asked and looked around for any clues.
She held her stomach and screamed, “Ugh! I am dying. He hit me and kicked my tummy. Take me to the doctor quickly.”
“Oh, my God!” the dutiful head exclaimed and glared at Tim before he periled his life and attacked him.
“How dare you hit my boss?” he shouted.
To his astonishment, Tim twisted his hand and he staggered backward.
To avoid showing weakness before his boss, he steadied himself, smiled, and said, “Okay, Boss,” and tried to help her.
“What is the matter with you, Laura?” The startled Tim asked her, but she cried the more and instructed the officer, “Take me out of here, or he will kill me.”
“It is all right, Mrs. Dickson-Williams,” he accepted.
The confused Tim tried to lend a hand, but she rebuffed the gesture, “Don't touch me. You murderer.”
“You heard her. Don't touch her,” the officer shouted and led her to the car.
Instantly, the team moved with the car siren. The sound attracted her parents, who lived in the luxury boys' quarters and they were curious.
“What happened?” Her forty-six-year-old mother, Mrs. Madeline Dickson, inquired.
“The Boss is critically ill,” one of the guards informed her.
“Oh, my goodness! What is happening to my daughter?” She screamed and ran into her room to get ready for the hospital.
At The Hospital
Before Laura got to the company's clinic, a team of three doctors was waiting for her. Meanwhile, the moment her convoy left her house with the siren, the pressmen were attracted. They rushed after her convoy and caused gridlock on the way, which delayed her parents' movement.
“Talk to us, Mrs. Williams. What is troubling you?” The Medical Director, Dr. Jolly Robinson, requested.
“Terminate the pregnancy and save me, please. My life is in danger,” she begged with fake agony.
“What!”
“Why terminate the pregnancy?” The two doctors asked her.
“This is supposed to be a precious baby, Mrs. Williams,” the Medical Director who was aware of her medical history and how they prayed for the pregnancy, pointed out.
As if she was losing her breath, she pleaded, “It is all right, Doctor but tell the public that you aborted it on health concerns. Tell them that you did it because I was dying.”
"Huh!"
"Yes, Doctor. Give me medications that will make it look as if I lost the pregnancy."
The confused Medical Director shook his head dejectedly, gave his colleagues his consent and they went into action. After that, they moved her to the recovery room to rest.
Laura lay propped up, portraying the picture of fragile victimhood.
“I had a miscarriage, Mom and Dad,” she informed her parents who were already in her ward.
“My grandchild! This is unbelievable,” her mother screamed and her fifty-year-old father, Finley Dickson, asked her, “What a tragedy! What happened?”
“Tim kicked my stomach this morning,” she sobbed.
“What! That gold digger dared to lay hands on you?” Her father asked angrily.
“I know that he is good for nothing. He wished to kill you and inherit everything,” her mother declared.
Shortly after, her assistant walked in and greeted her, “Good morning, Mrs. Dickson-Williams. I got the news that you are unwell and decided to check on you.”
“That is kind of you, Alice.”
“Thank you, Boss. How do you feel now?”
“I feel better. Thank you for your concern.”
“That is good to hear. The press would like to know what to report. What do I tell them?”
“Oh! Just tell them the truth. My lazy husband kicked my stomach because I got a job for him and he rejected it.”
She paused and waited for her to write her note. Afterward, she asked her again, “Is that all, Mrs. Williams?”
“No. Inform them that I suffered a miscarriage and that I am recuperating.”
“Ouch!” Alice exclaimed and showed worry.
“I got it, Boss," she said, wrote it down, and left at once.
“Oh! You are an honest girl, my daughter. You didn't withhold the truth from the public,” her mother praised her.
“Yes. Have you forgotten that we gave her and her siblings good home training?” Her father added.
“You are correct,” she admitted and gave her daughter an encouraging smile.
Suddenly, Laura gasped, a genuine spasm of post-procedure pain twisting her features. She clutched her abdomen. "Ahh! It hurts!"
"What?" Her bewildered parents asked in unison.
"The abortion pain is great."
"Abortion or Miscarriage?" Her astounded parents asked her, the pride vanishing, replaced by dawning, horrified comprehension.