PART ONEChapter Six: The Result
The house did not feel like home anymore.
Margret noticed it the moment she stepped inside, as if the walls themselves had shifted, pulling away from her. Everything looked the same—the couch, the framed family photo, Lucia's schoolbag by the door—but nothing felt familiar.
David locked himself in the bedroom.
Margret stood in the living room for a long time, her bag still on her shoulder, her shoes still on her feet. She felt suspended, as though if she moved too suddenly, something inside her would shatter completely.
Her mind kept returning to the doctor's mouth as it formed the words.
HIV positive.
The words had weight. They pressed against her chest, making it hard to breathe. She had heard them before, of course—on the news, in whispered conversations, spoken with fear or judgment. But they had never belonged to her. Not until today.
She sank slowly onto the couch and stared at her hands.
They looked the same.
No marks. No signs. No warning.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Lucia's school reminding parents about an upcoming event. Margret's throat tightened. Lucia. How would she explain anything to her child when she couldn't even understand it herself?
The bedroom door opened suddenly.
David stormed out, his face twisted with anger. "I can't believe you," he said.
Margret looked up, startled. "David—"
"How long?" he demanded. "How long have you been doing this?"
"Doing what?" Her voice cracked. "I didn't—"
"Don't insult me," he snapped. "This doesn't just happen."
Margret stood slowly, her legs trembling. "I have never cheated on you. Never."
David laughed harshly. "You expect me to believe that?"
"Yes," she said, tears spilling freely now. "Because it's the truth."
He stepped closer, looming over her. "Then explain it."
"I can't," Margret whispered. "I don't understand it either."
David turned away, running a hand through his hair. "Unbelievable. I give you everything. Everything. And this is how you repay me."
The words cut deep—not because they were true, but because they erased her completely. Years of loyalty, of quiet sacrifice, reduced to a single accusation.
"I trusted you," David continued. "Do you know what this does to me? To my name?"
Margret stared at him. "What about me?"
He scoffed. "This isn't about you."
That night, Lucia came home to a silence heavier than any she had known before.
"Mama?" she called softly.
Margret forced herself to smile as Lucia entered the room. "Hey, my love."
Lucia looked between her parents. Her father sat rigidly in his chair, arms crossed. Her mother's eyes were red, her face pale.
"Did something happen?" Lucia asked.
"No," David said sharply. "Go to your room."
Lucia hesitated, looking at Margret.
Margret nodded gently. "Go on, sweetheart."
Lucia walked away slowly, her footsteps hesitant.
As soon as she was gone, David spoke again. "You're not telling her. Do you understand me?"
Margret's heart pounded. "She's our daughter."
"She's my daughter," David corrected. "And I won't have her thinking—"
"Thinking what?" Margret interrupted. "That her mother is dirty?"
David's jaw tightened. "Watch your mouth."
Margret felt something inside her crack open. "You're blaming me for something you refuse to understand."
David stood. "This conversation is over."
But it wasn't.
Not for Margret.
Later that night, after Lucia was asleep, Margret sat alone at the kitchen table. The house was quiet, but her thoughts were screaming.
She replayed her life in fragments—her wedding day, Lucia's birth, the years of routine and trust. She searched for a moment where she might have made a mistake. There was none.
Her hands began to shake.
She walked into the bathroom and stared at her reflection. Her face looked older somehow, drawn and unfamiliar. She pressed her fingers against the sink, grounding herself.
"I didn't do anything wrong," she whispered aloud.
The words sounded weak in the empty room.
From the bedroom, she heard David on the phone.
"…yes," he said quietly. "She tested positive."
Margret's breath caught. She stepped closer to the door, her heart racing.
"No, I had no idea," he continued. "She fooled me too."
Margret covered her mouth, stifling a sob.
"I'll handle it," David said. "This can't affect my plans."
Plans.
Margret retreated silently, her legs barely holding her up.
By morning, the shame had settled into her bones.
David barely spoke to her. He avoided her touch entirely. When Lucia tried to sit between them at breakfast, David told her to hurry up and finish.
Margret watched Lucia's face fall.
At the market later that day, Margret felt eyes on her. Whispers. Glances. She didn't know yet whether David had told anyone—but fear told her he would.
Shame was contagious. It spread faster than truth.
That afternoon, she received a call from the hospital confirming the results.
"It's important you begin treatment immediately," the nurse said gently.
Margret thanked her, hung up, and sat in silence.
Treatment meant acknowledgment. It meant accepting something she still could not understand.
That night, Margret tried to talk again.
"David," she said quietly. "We need to face this together."
He didn't look at her. "There is no together."
Her heart broke completely then—not loudly, not dramatically, but in a slow, unbearable way.
Lucia watched from the hallway, unseen.
She saw her mother sitting alone at the table, shoulders shaking. She saw her father walk past without stopping.
Lucia hugged herself tightly.
She did not understand what HIV was. She did not understand betrayal or blame. But she understood pain. And she understood that something terrible had entered their home—something that had nothing to do with sickness and everything to do with truth.
That night, Margret lay awake, staring into the dark.
She felt contaminated—not in her body, but in the way people now looked at her. In the way David's eyes no longer held recognition, only accusation.
She whispered a prayer she had not prayed in years.
Not for herself.
For Lucia.
Because whatever this was—this result, this accusation, this sudden collapse of trust—it was only the beginning.
And Margret could already feel the world closing in.