My daughter Vilhelmina Kostomarov suffered a hemorrhage in a car accident. It put her life in danger. She needed her father’s rare blood type to save her life.
Unfortunately, my husband, Maximilian Kostomarov, who was the father of my daughter, didn't answer my phone calls. It made me panic at this time. It turned out that God's destiny had another will. My daughter, Vilhelmina, eventually died from lack of blood. She had not yet received intensive care.
Meanwhile, Maximilian still didn't answer my phone calls. That gave me the courage to look for him at the hospital. I searched the entire hospital. Finally, I heard him entwined in love with his assistant in the locker room. It was the most embarrassing and disgusting thing in my life. I lost my child and my husband was having an affair behind my back. The two of them were still unaware of my presence near them.
Maximilian said with a sly smile, “It’s enough, right? I will not see you for the next two days, honey. My lovely daughter, Vilhelmina, is getting ready for her birthday. I have to go home and be a good father.”
This time I didn't make a scene. I just silently called the funeral home.
“Hello, I'm a widower now. So, I don't have to wait for my husband. You can start preparing for my daughter's funeral.”
“Yes ma'am. We will cremate the body of your daughter, Vilhelmina Kostomarov’s body in three days.”
***
The midwinter winds were conical and piercing, making the locker room super cosy for both of them. The good show continued until Vilhelmina was put into a body bag and sent to the funeral parlour.
When I left the hospital, I saw Maximilian organizing his clothes while coming out of the stairwell and going back and forth with Kimberly Beadsworth.
It was already eight o'clock in the evening when I got home. When I turned on the light, the duck slippers were neatly placed in the entrance hall. I then saw Vilhelmina smiling wilfully in the family photo. But just now, I was at the funeral parlour personally for her coffin.
Vilhelmina's physical condition was deplorable. Her mouth, which was torn open, could not be stitched up. The crushed skull of her face made it difficult for her face to return to its original state. Plus there were blood clots in the brain due to bleeding. Her legs, limbs, spine and sternum were broken.
Vilhelmina had to get more than three hundred stitches first, only then could she be put into a coffin. My daughter now looked like a sleeping human being.
Everyone around me offered their condolences. They said that life and death have their own destiny. Only for me, this was not the case. My daughter, Vilhelmina could clearly have been saved if I had managed to get a blood donor. Vilhelmina was clearly saved.
I still remembered after arriving at the hospital, she was quickly pushed into the operating room. The doctor meant that all the broken bones could be repaired, but the ruptured internal organs needed an emergency blood transfusion.
I knew Vilhelmina had a rare blood type. Unfortunately, the hospital blood bank reserves were not enough. It made me immediately think of Vilhelmina's father, Maximilian Kostomarov, who has the same blood type as the child. But I couldn't get through to Maximilian.
Vilhelmina's life was hanging in the balance. I could only turn the hospital floors, but the phone was always off. The people in Maximilian's department said that he didn't have an operation at this time. The hospital was too big for me to find him.
Meanwhile, my daughter had already been declared dead after failing to be rescued. I held on to my last breath and continued to look for Maximilian. I just hoped that he would come to see Vilhelmina for the last time.
But to my surprise, I heard him entwined with his female assistant, Kimberly Beadsworth, in the locker room on the thirteenth floor. My heart ached to the point of numbness. I held onto the wall to gasp for breath in small gulps.
***
Finally, I sent Vilhelmina to the funeral parlor. I could never forget the way her chest cavity was sunken in and could only be filled with cotton. Her eyes closed tightly at that time.
I put away the crayons on the table. The door lock suddenly twisted. Maximilian arrived home from work. He couldn't change his shoes before rushing to the phone and rubbing his hands together anxiously.
“Did my lovely daughter call me?” Maximilian asked me.
Vilhelmina studied in a boarding elementary school. Every night after the evening activities at eight-thirty, the children could take back their cell phones to call home.
It has been two years. The habit has weathered the storm.
Maximilian and I looked forward to hearing the children's voices to relieve the fatigue of a long day's work. But the phone would never ring again.
“I called you before, Max.” I lowered my eyelids.
“Oh, really? I’m sorry, my wife. It's my fault that I'm too busy today. There was a traffic jam.” Maximilian Kostomarov chagrined. “Vilhelmina told you something, right? Come on, tell me about it!”
I looked at my husband with eyes full of expectation. I really wanted to tell him the truth. The truth was that our daughter, Vilhelmina Kostomarov was dead.
But I opened my mouth and just said, “She didn't say anything, Max. Our daughter just shared interesting things in school today. She then asked me about her birthday arrangements in three days.”
