Faded Hope

Amidst the twenty-nine white Foxglove flowers of a roadside verge, Reidah slumbered on her bloodstain after an arduous desertion voyage. Between her bruised chest and feet, lethal belt gashes laid. And on her deformed face, legion knife wounds alighted. By her perforated crepe pink dress, she dozed. While three hazy angels vigilantly insulated her marly coffin. In a trice, a night breeze blew to forewarn the aggrieved lady, who looked very serene. Blaring footsteps leaked a lunatic old swain, whose sole intention was not to pray for the nonnative lady. However, he just rushed in order to seize his golden opportunity. In fact, it was again his abruptly lucky day to abduct two female preschoolers and a male toddler. Their screeches that sounded like hushed voices were ample to awaken the lifeless mother from apathetic torpor. In a blink of an eye, Ange's ruby red porcelain tea cup toppled over after her consort Alain had bussed her on the cheek from the back. In the interim, the ensuing flashes of her poignant trauma were choked with a void that made her feel sometimes amnesiac…

Forsooth, the old Reidah had to change herself into the new Mrs. Angela Aries. This was her withering secret which she had to disclose for the first time to the chief of psychiatrists. Ange then added that she verily had to abandon her maniacal ex-husband to be pampered by her new opulent spouse. Dr. Emma suddenly felt empathetic towards her dear patient. And how won't she while Angela's flow of agonies lucidly kept recalling the renowned psychiatrist of a beloved whom she owed him support? Whilst Mrs. Aries burst into tears, the compassionate doctor stroked the back of her deary's hand with her fingertips. That afternoon, the dejected sky erratically seemed to wail over Ange outdoors. Whereas any crestfallen patient would have felt allayed and homely indoors. In a practically cozy light blue office, the psychiatric counselor delightfully used to welcome manifold guests. Unlike some eligible rivals, she adorned the front wall with self-written motivational quotes within spherical frames. Betwixt the two arched windows, a daffodil yellow storage bench exhibited three marigold orange pots of Golden Pothos, French Lavender, and Roman Chamomile flowers. The opposite wall of the room was covered, inter alia, by a light caramel bookcase. This furniture wherein eleven creatively self-composed manuscripts were stowed. On the corners, Bamboo Palm and Peace Lily plants were stored. And at the entrance, the scent of the Jasmine flower from the right side appealed to all patients…

By her mellow voice, Emma requested Angela to repose on a light green lounge chair. As soon as the beaming light of a unique white pendant made her squint, a flashing dark memory awakened her by periodic screams for evil repayment. "Life is really unfair," Ange yelled. The echo of this sentence meanwhile curbed the doctor's attention from paging her black record book guide. For cryptic reasons, it robustly hit her heart like a thunderbolt. Angela then slowly enunciated while reminiscing about her times of torment:

"This notion escorts me since six years ago."

"Does it balk your comfort," asked Ms. Emma.

"I feel angst over what to respond," murmured Mrs. Angela.

"And do you still remember the last person whom you spoke to that exact day?" added the doctor.

"It was all tenebrous…" her patient accounted, "I cannot remember how he looked like."

"Trying to remember him always makes me slithered across a heavy trance," she detailed.

After a wary silence had pervaded the atmosphere, the psychiatrist interfered to say: "Do you think you might know this thingummy someday?"

Before interrupting her counselor, a sudden hallucination had thrilled her to assert: "But I still feel his soft little hands every day".

In a dulcet tone, the mental health healer addressed Angela after a fleet glance at her last highlighted note: "Dear Ange, do you mind telling me now about your rebirth journey?"

"I stood in a row…I was impatiently waiting for my turn to book a ticket of euphoria aboard the keel of doom…I am not sure about how many absconders were there… But, I can never forget the apt teenager Amel….She gambled with death for survival…That little victim knew she will never have a future in the other dull side of the world…She aspired to purchase a safe flight to pursue hope in The Land of Human Rights…Yet, life compelled her to travel by the path of dark lights…Even with the advent of her stepmother, her pains never abated… Abuse was hence her biggest motive for stepping forward…After fifty minutes of the fatal journey of survival, she felt so cold…Her winsome smile glared out the boat after I had proffered her my pink coat…She was bashful about asking for a loaf of bread…So, I shared with her an adamantine cookie that I stole from the house of my dad…But, my hope faded away once they decimated her…I impotently watched her vanishing into the Great Sea…It was a dastardly bloke made-ploy that I knew nothing about...I just paid for their sin the moment I lost my little Amel... I shrieked with agony to rescue her from such human monsters…While I forgot that I am a woman who will never be heard…" finished Mrs. Aries her account with a guilty glimpse of a book cover, entitled "LET IT OUT!"

During the last minutes of the session, the psychiatrist was unspectacularly mazed with bewilderment. A throng of questions assailed her mind from all sides to wonder about the truth of her patient. The mental health mender then declaimed her qualms:

"Is she fond of reading poems...Or she simply learned by heart this fascinating passage from one of her favorite elegiac volumes…Is it possible that she could have a schizophreniform disorder...Or she is simply a talented author…"

Into an abyss, she had been ushered before her patient obstructed the influx of her thoughts.

"Pain does not know how to lie," Ange averred, "Pain has many functions. It can be a mental destroyer. It can be a heartbreaker. It can be a soul burner. And it can render you a creative writer."

The phone unexpectedly rang to interrupt their engrossing talk. It was her beloved husband: Mr. Aries. She swiftly picked up the call to know that she has to be in her dream royal restaurant after fifty-five minutes.

"I am sorry. I urgently have to leave now," Angela said.

"Before you go, I would love to tell you that miracles do sometimes bloom in the midst of pain. And your miracle is your pen. So, use it well!" ended Emma the colloquy with her friend.

Somewhere in the City of Light, Alain prepared a birthday bombshell for his first love. From the doorway of the restaurant, her face irradiated the place like a winter dove. The eye-catching mask which she had to wear everywhere hid well all traces of her past bruises. And the color of her long sheath dress did fully match the paint of the walls. On the red carpet, she walked to meet her king after being greeted by thirty-five servants. By a dazzled gape, the loving husband welcomed her with a captivating bouquet of David Austen Roses. His demulcent cuddle was enough to stave off all the stress of her day. Around a marble table, the couple sat straight away. In a French cuisine style, their best-loved dishes were specially cooked. The small birthday feast introduced a mishmash of the traditional French appetizer "Des Canapés au Saumon Fumé et Mascarpone" and the appetizing curio "Escargots à la Crème Gorgonzola et Champignons". The main course shortly afterward started off with the two main dishes: "Un Magret de Canard et Caviar d'Aubergine" and "Un Châteaubriand avec une Sauce Béarnaise," along with a fresh cranberry juice and a glass of vintage red wine. While relishing this special meal, her hero promised her that their life will be hearts and flowers soon. That did not mean he is an inconsiderate consort. But from time to time, he just felt delinquent. She commiserated with his unfeigned words by wrapping her fingers around his. The glare of his golden pen, which emanated from his tuxedo, encumbered her appetite to taste one of the white chocolate "Mendiants en Or". She then excused herself to go to the restroom. Angela thither pondered the questions of what did the doctor want her to write about and to whom. A splash of mild water lulled her to rejoice in the rest of the evening. Alain forthwith celebrated her anticipated return with a heart-shaped cake of raspberries, which secreted a unique emerald ring. Her look of ecstasy lasted until his business personal assistant appeared. She realized that Mr. Aries has an urgent meeting to attend. The doting spouse lovingly held Ange's both hands and fleetingly expressed his adoration for his bride. With a long sigh of sorrow, he left her in hurry…

When traumas weigh against delightful memories, the mind only acknowledges shocks. And in return, it inhumes the good moments. That is what most people consider truthful. While contemplating this tenet from the window, Angela asked herself: "And why does my mind still admit the beauty of the snow above "La Tour Eiffel" just like the last time, right after our espousal?" At the back of her white car Porsche 911 Carrera 4, she inferred from the skirmish of her thoughts that she would never have found happiness if she had never chanced on this considerate jewelry tycoon. With tears in her downcast eyes, she rested as soon as the cold sieved her mind from dejection. In the vicinity of a privileged neighborhood, the driver parked the car. "Madam! We reached home," his gentle voice came out from afar. She could barely wake up and walk into the sumptuous villa, which felt like an aghast house in the absence of her partner. As she dreaded the dimness, she switched on all the lights to find her maid, drowsing on an abundance of scattered cane beads above the kitchen table.

"Camille! I am here now," with this soothing statement, Mrs. Aries awoke her abigail.

"Happy Birthday, madam!" under her intermittent breaths, the servant muttered.

"You should lay on your bed, please!" from her delicate heart, Angela insisted.

After Camille had opened her hands to offer Ange a rainbow beady necklace and a varicolored birthday card withal, the maidservant asserted: "I still have to prepare your usual decaf coffee with clover honey".

On a curved back sofa, Angela sat and slightly covered herself with a light cotton blanket. To divert her attention from overthinking, she opened her WhatsApp chat to connect with the Aries family's best friend Lune. This fetching-looking lady of twenty-five years old, who was eminently coddled by her wealthy old father, texted her five hours ago: "Darling, you are invited to an afternoon tea party tomorrow in honor of my beatific mother". With a wistful smile, Ange replied back "Righto" once she consented to go. Thereafter she sipped her hot black coffee to solace herself in her pro tem seclusion. From nowhere, her despondency afresh intervened to blast her relief and launch a tug of war between her and herself. To halt the adverse upshots, Angela melded her antidepressant medication with her drink in the hope of having a snug night. However, nothing in the world can withstand traumas that unfailingly precipitate nightmares…

Ange hysterically woke up from her nightmare under the echo of their blame: "You are an erring wife". She was sweltering while reflecting with curiosity about the one who rescued her from the six shades of evil. "Is it the reflection of my consciousness or my good side?" wondered Angela. And in her endeavor to discern the identities of those whom she descried in her nightmare, she sent an outcry of dismay: "I cannot believe they are back again". Her squeal horrifiedly awoke Camille to find her spewing out. To her surprise, she wanted to call the conscientious doctor of the Aries family. But, the sedative voice of Ange stopped her from flustering Mr. Raphael at this late time of the night. "Can you bring me my golden hand clutch purse, please?" was the last thing Angela asked Camille to do for her before going to bed. To subside her fear beats, she unconsciously swallowed her antidepressants. And then she sought serenity by calling Ms. Emma in secret.

"They are still chasing me down," with a shaking voice, initiated Ange the call.

"Sweetie! It was just a phantasm from your past. And it is gone by now because you boldly overcame it..." answered the psychiatrist.

"I cannot deal with this perpetual psychological turmoil anymore…This nightmare made me vomit galore…" interrupted the patient her doctor with teary eyes.

"Darling! Traumas are deemed to be the aftermaths of a dark past. And from time to time, they are supposed to hunt you down to spoil your delight. So, you and I should still be working hard to inhume such drifting excruciating experiences. For now, I want you to sedately close your eyes. 1…2…3…Try to breathe out slowly while considering the fact of who you become today. In this process, let me help you to recall who you are, Ange! You are Mrs. Aries: the life partner of a distinguished magnate within The Hexagon and even overseas," cheered Ms. Emma.

Within her heart, comfort was doused to make Angela crave to meet her the next day. Yet, the doctor's plan curbed her thirst for peace of mind after she had muttered: "Tomorrow, I will wing to The Gulf Tiger to attend an international conference about psychopathology."

To her disappointment, Ange soughed the word "Bye!"

"I am so proud of you, deary!" avowed the psychiatry counselor to soothe her ire before finishing the call.

From the littery kitchen, the wife espied her spouse pouring pure Clementine juice into three Chinese Crystal glass tumblers. And with her sedate footsteps, she spectacularly caught sight of a heavenly breakfast above a glossy wooden table with two benches. The scrumptious morning meal included: Omelets with sauteed Cremini mushrooms and gruyere. Avocado stuffed toasts with smoked cherry tomatoes, goat cream cheese, and impeccably chopped drill. A basket of lambent "Croissants" and "Pains au Chocolat". Three stoneware mugs of hot chocolate. Tartines topped with Nutella and caramelized strawberries. And finally a wire mesh fruit bowl of apples, bananas, grapefruits, kiwis, oranges, and pineapple.

"Good morning, my Ange!" softly whispered Alain in his sweetheart's right ear.

His palliative words, however, made her feel a sharp twinge of guilt in her heart. Thankfully, the cordial hug veiled her grim expressions to then skeptically smile and say: "I am sorry, honey! I did not feel your arrival this early morning. I guess that I overslept…"

"Your face looks sallow. Let me feed you, baby!" commented the benign consort after he had caressed her dim cheeks.

Under sham laughs, Angela had to act well to maybe prove her appreciation of Mr. Aries' wonted fatuous jokes…or to probably deliberate over interring her last nightmare in the prefrontal cortex…To end the tedious play, she opened the topic of the tea party in the Auclair family's castle.

"You are the only one who makes me belong to this world. So, you should accompany me this afternoon. Besides, Lune would have missed you so much..." proposed Ange.

His mirthful smile perspicuously hinted at his agreement. But, the sudden phone call from his confrere instantly swept out her excitement. As a modest apology, he kissed her on her forehead. With discontent, they both bade adieu to each other…

Into an unlit hallway of the prodigious and stupendous building, Mrs. Aries hesitantly walked to meet the calamity of her day. With every unsure step, her dreadful doubts about being endangered increased to in turn leave her breathless. Fortunately, the light of a shimmering chandelier brought her soul back to behold the Auclair's kith and kin gathering for her birthday celebration. There seemed to be a lavish feast for Angela. However, Mr. Auclair's scowling facial expression and his kindred's feigned birthday wishes for her unbosomed the secretive plan. While realizing her true status within this high class, she felt dizzy among the crowd. In the nick of time, the smell of the food helped her to momentarily disappear into the washroom. On the exterior, Lune was waiting to look after her. She then grasped Ange's hand to protect her from people's hypocrite stares. In a picturesque garden, she lolled in company with four of Lune's female close friends, who looked very materialistic. All, except her, enjoyed Lune's moral lessons of being a hedonist in terms of cheating on man. Whereas her curiosity was trying to pursue girlish giggles, that came from the surrounding boxwood trees. As that eerie power proceeded towards her, she sensed heat. Angela could only recognize her through her sweet voice after she had called her "Reidah!" three times.

"Amel! Is that you, my precious?" lamentably addressed Ange's soul the other part in silence.

"Free your soul! Say the truth, Reidah!" had mumbled that lost spirit before flying away.

Under this declamatory message, Angela haply tossed her cocktail juice onto her short light rosy brown velvet dress. To rid her mind of a tape of worries, she unconsciously ran away from her party…

On an unfamiliar street, Ange wandered to seek out her destination. She felt distrait until Lune awoke her by covering her with a black leather jacket. As usual, she appeared to be her lifesaver. But the habitual talk of Lune's love stories made her, each time she endeavored to comfort her, look garrulous. Angela unintentionally learned by heart the names and professions of her three most favored suitors: Cédric the journalist, Brice the dentist, and Antoine the pianist. On the spur of the moment, time stopped at an agonizing scene of an old vagrant woman. Ange could not hear Ms. Auclair's chatter anymore. Everything around her seemed immovable. The innocent smile of that beggar woman compelled her to travel back to her past where she sighted herself in the same place. She dismally kept watching herself from afar because her heavy feet could not help to save her. However, a silhouette of a stranger popped up to entirely change her destiny. At this familiar sight, she could not handle her profuse teardrops. It was only Lune's guffaws, which made Mrs. Aries' flash of remembrance evanesce. After Ms. Auclair had derided the panhandler, Angela returned to the land of the living to find her woolen muffler wet. With no single word, Ange then left everything and everyone behind…

While boredom was overrunning the Aries' villa, she thought of questing for inspiration to gratify herself before the end of her day. On the eve of a flood tide, and even in her low spirits, the ardent lady decided to paint amongst all her preferable indoor flowers, such as the Mammillaria Cactus, the purple Oxalis, the white Geranium, and the red Begonia in an astounding glasshouse next door. Though the place was awe-inspiring, a sense of numbness froze her mind. Ergo, she closed her eyes in the hope of choosing something riveting to paint from her glum memory. But as expected, her good memories must have vanished throughout time, due to an accumulation of traumas. In a sudden instant, only her neoteric nightmare could protrude to make her paintbrush move across an acrylic paper. After nearly fifteen minutes, she discovered that her painting is in fact imbued with the six shadows of her tormentors. In a moment of her realization of this fact, she felt appalled to then accidentally break the Evian Spring glass water bottle. As she bent to collect the scattered pieces, blood was drawn from the palm of her left hand. In her attempt to peer blood, she saw a hazy vision of a male teener whom she knew very well, thrusting a knife into her ex-husband's heart. And with a set of screams followed by sardonic laughs, he repeated: "I avenged for you, Reidah!"

"Honey! What are you doing?" asked Alain to halt her gruesome vision.

Briskly, Ange stood to hide her painting. And with a bogus smile, she replied: "You are not allowed to see it…I mean it is still incomplete" after covering her tableau with a tablecloth.

"Are you bleeding?" stuttered the affectionate husband. And while hurrying toward her, he added: "Do you feel hurt, baby?"

"I am absolutely fine. Don't worry!" assured his wife.

If only Alain did not query about how her birthday party went among the Auclair household, Angela would have kept staring at him for the entire night.

In high dudgeon, she then spoke: "By going there, I just demeaned myself".

"I did not know that Mr. Auclair would commit such a folly. He really lost all my respect for him now. People like him trade in morals for some pennies…" Mr. Aries contemptuously talked.

"Who informed you of what happened? She must be Lune for sure," Ange interrupted him.

"By the way, she must be here within seven minutes," he stated after looking at his watch from Glashütte Original brand.

"Was it your idea?" Angela guessed.

"Well, nobody should ever dare to upset my glamorous wife," Alain confirmed.

At an ominous dinner, serenity prevailed over the atmosphere until Camille asked for permission to leave, under the excuse of being queasy. She must verily have felt unwanted because of Ms. Auclair's haughty looks.

"Would you please finish your meal, my dearest? Your presence at the dining table always gladdens our hearts," Mrs. Aries urged her.

She shortly afterward turned left to question her guest "Isn't it right, Lune?"

"No doubts… Please, feel at ease! And enjoy your meal, Cam…Camille!" the vain young lady shilly shally claimed.

Then she had to finish her talk with an apology on behalf of the true offender as agreed by her friend of infancy. However, there seemed to be another story that he was not told about. He looked deceived after hearing her ensuing expressions of regret.

"Ladies! Did I miss something?" Alain amazedly addressed them.

"You owe her a deeply sincere apology for that, not me," Angela kindly advised her.

"You know I sometimes...well maybe often talk and act in a silly way...But, I never mean it...You are very fortunate to have an ethereal wife like Ange," Lune explained to him.

After attentively listening to such compliments, Angela had to flee away to mask her biliousness with some medical drugs…

On a trail of serrated thorns, Ange traipsed to scout out her Poodle breed devoted companion. Since she was agog to know which destination their whispers would lead, she missed out on the spine-chilling show of how much the Oxalis bushes were eager to quench their thirst from the flow of her blood. And in her venture to identify if those whispers were either prayers or incantations, the stray lady felt muddled. In a frequented place where the cold degree of darkness gradually rose in accordance with her footfalls, her face got pallid once she keeked an inky Begonia tree. As she approached the dire assembly, the six specters stepped aside to appallingly let her lament the death of Éclair. In the meantime, they hovered aloft to disperse profuse faded petals of Geranium flowers. "Thank heavens! It was just a nightmare," Ange exclaimed right after she had grisly opened her eyes. While considering every detail of her nightmare from her sweat drops, which smelled like death; her dog bellowed in throes to bid the last valediction. "…Or maybe not!" she wailed. Like an unhinged woman, Angela dashed into the glasshouse where the woeful voice emanated. The red traces of a hand on the door handle made her dither about entering inside. Howbeit, her venturesome spirit chose to defy her scruples to subsequently become thunderstruck by her faded Geranium plants. Though Ange could imbibe a flask of anguish at this early phase, the posterior macabre scene made her regret her intentional act. The murder of Éclair made her simultaneously scream and snigger. It was obvious that the murderer hit her dog with the Begonia pot in cold blood as a threatening message. The way how the bloodstained leaves were covering the carcass induced goose pimples all over her body. Amidst her yelps, she remembered the cozy moments which were brimful of mirth in tandem with Éclair. Whether in blitheness or gloominess, the presence of that endearing creature evinced its perennial staunchness. During her fleeting euphoric moments of celebrations, it used to fervidly wag its tail. Whereas in her eternal strivings to sorrow over herself, the loyal dog used to abstain from eating and drinking until it spotted her dazzling smile from the gloomy room. Despite this, Éclair never surrendered to encourage Angela by its sole deep gaze, which delineated a glister of trust, into her defeatist eyes. That glitter, which looked like a sincere promise, always recalled Ange that Éclair will forever stay with her. Whilst sinking into her memories, the chill made her stand to pick up anything to warm her body. Dread, in this way, stormed out her mind to in turn pawn her heart. In bloody ink, they left her a baleful message in bold on her painting. As she enunciated the following writing: "Mrs. R. We are watching you," she cried out: "I cannot fathom why they insist on taking my happiness away". While her hope dwindled, Ange kept purging her stomach for hours…

On her way to her in-laws' manor, she endured the dilemma of either blaming herself for inadvertently leaving the door open or upbraiding her husband for being wrapped up in his work all the time. Propitiously, interwinding his fingers with hers as a gesture of atonement pacified her wrath. The anticipated call from the detective, on the contrary, enkindled her bile afresh after Alain had briefly stated the reason behind the harrowing death of Éclair.

"How do you even want me to believe that he is just a drug maniac? Did you quickly forget about that gory menacing writing?" vociferated Ange.

"Don't brood. At least, we are persuaded that he is not another adversary of the Aries family," claimed Alain.

"Are you really aware of what you are saying now? I have just lost my peerless companion. But, you are being again egocentric with me," shouted his wife in agony.

"My apologies, my Ange! It's all my fault. I should not have attended the recognition party for my employees since you were nauseous," blurted out the delicate spouse. In the meanwhile, a message notification tune from her mobile phone inhibited their quarrel. It was Lune who apologized anew and apprised Angela of how much concerned Alain was about her at the party.

"I sincerely accept your apology," bemusedly responded Ange to her heart.

From the dignified Baltic iron door, the ebullience of Mrs. Sophie and Mr. Stéphane for their impromptu visit keenly gratified Ange. Although her homely parents-in-law's grinning faces and their heartfelt embraces were unquestionably sufficient to make her easeful, she dashed hotfoot to the upstairs floor to covet for an innocuous consolation. The esoteric drab library wherein she preferred to seclude herself enshrouded an antique phonograph from the eighties. On an ebony fiber rug, Angela then swayed on her sore feet with the melancholic tunes of Johann Bach's musical composition "Come, Sweet Death". And she eulogized solo her murdered friend until the last slight knock on the door fully absorbed her attention. Mrs. Sophie Aries, alias "Our Clement Mother" thereabouts, lovingly swept her tears.

"I profoundly feel you, my little Ange," she affirmed "And I am all ears for you now".

However, her daughter-in-law's piercing silence made her reconsider everything after feeling impuissant.

"Poor little rich girl! Her pain must be invincible," she thought.

This time, her distress triumphed over her appetite for her favorite dish "Spaghetti Puttanesca". The others seemed also to satisfy their hunger by just tasting dinner. To hush her stormy melancholy, Alain's parents proffered her especially handmade birthday gifts. Her mother-in-law knitted a beige lace sweater from alpaca yarn, and her father-in-law made a flute from Western Red Cedar wood for her. In the interval, the redness of the tomato sauce abreast some obscure infuriating hisses fanned the flames of her fresh trauma. To block the gate of her memory, she dared to deflect her mind by focusing on her present. Yet, things went even worse after she had read on the opposite glass window: "You are the only responsible for her loss".

To lull her nerves to sleep, she hardly laid her head on her mother-in-law's lap, which was her only potent soporific in times of afflictions.

"I had a crappy eve," Ange crooned to herself with a faded smile.

"Tomorrow is going to be a glorious day," Mrs. Sophie reassured while caressing her chestnut hair.

On the left side of an anodyne mint green waiting room, the five cozy Navajo white linen chairs were all occupied. Amongst the other four patients, Angela was sitting to count the ticks of a masterly Crystal wall clock to beguile her time. The next male patient, who apparently looked sane, proved to be a narcissist from his indomitable shouts on his call with his divorced wife. While the fifty-nine years old man was able to dupe them all by his quietude until he ran out of patience. In front of an acrylic painting of Angel waterfalls, he hourly admonished himself with a series of scornful laughter. Moving to Ange's right side, the story of the young blond lady was absolutely tear-jerking. Ava, who sacrificed her family in the name of love, was a victim of infidelity for ten years. Before her departure, she disappointedly uttered: "Love is silly" as an invaluable moral lesson for women conspicuously to learn from. The last patient, whose sole son was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, kept flattering herself for being an ideal mother. However, the blame he charged her with evinced that she had always been a neglectful parent. After two hours of bidding on her seat, Ange's legs began to quiver from impatience. Fortunately, hearing her name from the jocund receptionist, which sounded like a call from heaven, managed to save her in the last minutes.

To escape the baneful reality, Angela firmly closed the door to seek safety in the office room of Ms. Emma.

"They threaten me to tell the truth to Alain…I am afraid of losing my true lover…What should I do now, doctor?" she falteringly spoke.

"Simmer down, please? And tell me if you had another nightmare after our last call!" the psychiatrist urged her.

"It wasn't a nightmare...It was real…I don't even know how to explain it…" Angela spluttered in despair.

"You mean it was a vision," the psychiatrist questioned.

"In sooth, they murdered Éclair. I still can't process her eternal parting...I mean trying to think about it makes me queasy…" Mrs. Aries inconsolably maintained.

"What did the police say about this trespass?" the doctor asked.

"They reported that it was just a mishap," Ange sharply responded.

"There must be a logical reasoning behind this crime. Since Mr. Aries is an eminent high-flyer, the convict may be one of his foes," Ms. Emma deduced.

"But they left me a comminatory message," Angela vented.

"Beyond any doubt, targeting the beloveds of one's opponent is the basic rule of any enmity game. So, it may either be a mistake or a coincidence," the versed practitioner elucidated.

"But fear of losing Alain daily crumbles my cranial bones…He's the one who dubbed me the name "Ange" because he blindly trusts me…I really can't allow myself to deceive him…Please, help me out!" the peccant wife spoke with an entreating face in her venture to verbalize her deep-seated feelings.

"I am dead sure, it's a snap," Emma reassured her.

"Any suggestions?" Mrs. Aries requested.

"Continuously vomiting up may hint at some warming news. You may be up the sprout," the doctor notified her.

"Uh-huh!" Ange believed.

"Aye! And with a little talent, you can take the plunge to keep your husband," the psychiatrist suggested.