No Longer Mine

by kates1304

Connie and Michael

'Sweetheart' Connie called out as she arrived home, placing her large brown leather bag down in the hall and hanging her white woollen coat on the neat silver coat-hooks that lined the wall by the door 'Michael!' she added, making her way through the hall to the open-plan kitchen that ran the length of the back of their large house. Glancing around at the empty room, the light bouncing harshly off the shiny granite surfaces and sparklingly clean appliances of the kitchen, she realised that her husband wasn't where she expected him to be; sitting at the large farmhouse table sipping black coffee and waiting for her to return home an hour late as she always did. Slightly concerned she made her way up to the bedroom, picking up a paperweight from the hall table on her way past as she heard a resounding bang from above her and wondered briefly whether she was in the process of being robbed. 'Michael!' she called, more loudly this time, feeling slightly afraid that he wasn't responding when she could hear the movements of whoever was in the bedroom as clearly as she could.

'Connie' he emerged from the bedroom and ran his hand through his hair tensely, looking anxiously around him 'what are you doing home?'
'I live here' she replied slowly, her fear that she was being robbed being replaced by a greater fear that something she didn't understand was happening and she was powerless to stop it. Just from looking into the familiar eyes of her husband, she knew that something was very wrong.
'I mean, why are you home so early?' he asked, his eyes darting around nervously as though he was in the process of doing something he didn't mean her to see
'What's going on?' she climbed the final stair so she stood level with him and lowered the paperweight to the ground, fearing that if she were armed when she found out what he was up to, she would find herself on a murder charge.
'I'm sorry' he stammered, looking a little frightened 'you weren't supposed to find out like this'

'Find out what Michael?' her voice didn't quite sound like her own; it was deadly calm when inside she was screaming
'Darling…' they were joined by another woman in the hall and Connie turned to her and then her husband, her eyes darting between them as if trying to find the punch line to a particularly sick and unfunny joke.
'Who are you?' she demanded, turning back to Michael, pleading with him to have a reasonable excuse although she was unable to think of any possible justification for his behaviour
'Fiona' she woman replied in a slightly posh accent, not unlike the one that Connie herself had developed after Michael had politely suggested that her broad Essex accent would not be the correct way to impress his parents and their posh, incredibly shallow friends.
'Michael?' Connie stared at her husband, her eyes demanding an explanation, his eyes offering none 'What the hell is going on here?'
'Darling?' Fiona seemed confused now, unable to quite grasp what was going on 'Who is this?'
'I'm his wife' Connie turned to her, anger burning in her eyes 'and who the hell are you?'
'I'm…' Fiona's eyes flicked towards Michael, then back towards Connie as she tried to catch up on a situation she no longer fully understood 'I'm his wife'

'I can explain' Michael mumbled as both women turned to him, both of them displaying various manifestations of shock, Connie picking up the paperweight again, pretty sure that no jury in the land would convict her if she killed him now, Fiona's delicate blue eyes filling with tears that threatened to spill over onto her perfect ivory skin.
'Go on' Connie's voice was cold and unemotional but inside she could feel herself breaking into a million pieces, her heart shattering beyond repair.
'I…' Michael looked terrified now, realising that actually, he couldn't explain – that there could be no justification for his behaviour that would appease both women, that if he could pacify one of them he would be doing well. Since Connie was certainly the more volatile of the two and appeared to be armed with a blunt object, he decided to attempt to keep her relatively happy and deal with the distress he was going to be forced to heap onto Fiona later.
'You what Michael?' Fiona spat and he spun around, terrified that she appeared to be shedding her docile image and turning on him as fast as Connie had 'You can only have one wife'
'I…' he trailed off again as Connie clenched and unclenched her hand around the paperweight, eyes flicking between him and Fiona as though she was finding it hard to decide who to bludgeon first 'Shall we take this downstairs?'
'No, Michael, we'll talk about this here' Connie snapped, refusing to budge from her position at the top of the stairs as he attempted to make his way past her 'How the hell did you manage to marry us both?'
'I didn't mean to…' he looked at them both, his eyes pleading with them to calm down, suddenly feeling very much out numbered by two extremely angry women 'It just sort of happened?'
'When did he marry you?' Connie turned to Fiona, giving him a look as though he wasn't worthy of her time and attention which made him feel only marginally better than he would had she gone with her original plan and battered him with the paperweight
'Two months ago' Fiona blinked tearfully as Connie gave a triumphant smile, realising that she was the one legally married to Michael and therefore, the one who stood to claim half of his relatively vast fortune in the inevitable divorce 'When did you marry him?'
'Twelve years ago' Connie glanced at him as though he was something vaguely unpleasant that the cat had bought in 'I'm the one legally lumbered with him' she added tensely
'Oh' Fiona bit her lip tensely 'But we've been together…' she paused, counting the months and years quietly 'six years eight months. New Year Ninety Eight'
'Really' Connie turned to her husband, fixing him with a steely stare that was filled with hurt and she felt the tears threaten. As the significance of what Fiona had said sunk in with Connie, Michael stifled a groan. Unknowingly, Fiona had made the Connie situation a thousand times worse. He could see that the last vestige of strength and dignity that remained in Connie was leaving her and for that, he hated himself.
'I'm sorry' he whispered, as Fiona looked as confused as Connie had been on arriving home 'I never meant to hurt you'
'You were with her?' tears rolled down her cheeks now and she started to tremble, dropping the paperweight with a resounding thud as it dented the shiny laminate flooring of the hall 'How could you Michael? You knew what I was going through and you went and you slept with…'
'What happened Michael?' Fiona turned to him, wondering what had happened before she'd met Michael at the New Years party that year
'Why now Michael?' Connie was shouting now, trying to regain some control over the situation 'You've had us both for six years, why do you make your choice now?'
'Because of the baby' Fiona gave a lopsided smile and Michael's heart sunk to his boots. He had known what the news would do to Connie and didn't want her to find out, especially not in this way. He was only leaving her because Fiona had forced him to make a commitment between her and the 'job', which took him away every other week. The truth was, he worked from home, had done for years, and used the job as an excuse to shift between the women without causing anyone to be suspicious. Fiona's ultimatum had pushed him into a corner and now it was all unravelling spectacularly.
'The baby…' Connie looked at him in disbelief 'she's having your baby?'
'Yes' Fiona whispered, backing behind the man she had thought was her husband as he put his hands on his true wife's shoulders, attempting to pacify her or at least hold her at arms length so she couldn't punch him.
'You…' words failed her as she lashed out, pushing his arms forcefully away from her and running, down the stairs, through the hall and out of the front door to her car, pausing only to grab her bag and coat before she got into her car and disappeared
'Fiona…' he turned to her, a mollifying expression on his face 'I can explain…'
'Don't bother' she fixed him a look filled with hate 'just get out of my way'
'But Fi…' he tried again but she was already storming down the stairs and out of the house, slamming the door behind her leaving him alone, contemplating the wreck of his marriages and his life.

Connie didn't come home that night, or the night after, electing to lie awake crying in her office rather than returning to the house where it had all fallen apart. The house where everything had gone wrong again and again until there was nothing left. The house where just stepping over the threshold left her feeling vulnerable and alone. During the day she ruled the hospital in a trance like state, fooling no one and concerning everyone, even those who considered her their nemesis. The moment she heard Zubin remark to Ric that he was a little worried about her, she knew that all her efforts to stay strong and controlled were in vain. She was falling apart and everyone could see it.

Days passed and she heard and saw nothing of Michael. She assumed he'd moved back in with Fiona and was preparing to play happy families with her and that hurt her more than he could ever know. Not only had he found a newer model who was everything Connie wasn't, she was giving him the one thing that Connie couldn't. She knew in her heart that things had fallen apart long ago – that the final nail in the coffin for their marriage had come before he'd even met Fiona.

Finally, after four nights in her office, wearing the same suit, drinking herself into a restless slumber, the tears falling sporadically, she realised that she had to go home, if only to get changed and give the illusion that she hadn't in fact completely lost her mind. Getting into her car she drove, arriving at the house with the disconcerting realisation that she couldn't remember a single detail of the drive or much about the past four days.

Climbing from the car she fingered her house keys tensely, preparing to face the house full of memories. She briefly wondered whether Michael would still be there – she knew that Fiona had left alone moments after she had – but she knew in her heart he was too much of a coward. That he wouldn't want to be there when she came home. That he would be too afraid to face the music. To face up to what he'd done to her. As the key slid easily into the lock she took a deep breath and long forgotten feelings from years before flooded back to her as she recalled the last time she'd arrived home feeling this way.

'Are you okay?' Michael paused by the door, watching his wife hobble towards him clutching her side painfully, her pale face a mask of concentration, all her strength going into staying upright.
'Fine' she snapped, brushing his arm away as he tried to assist her but she didn't want his help. She wanted nothing from him. Felt that she deserved nothing.
'Sure…' he said doubtfully as he slid the key into the lock and turned it, opening the door into the hall and they stepped inside. Silence engulfed them as they stood in their house for the first time since it had all fallen apart leaving them with nothing but each other and a house far too big for the two people left to fill it. For what felt like hours they stood, taking in the normality that suddenly didn't feel normal any more; it felt suffocating. He heard her sob quietly and turned to her but she was already moving away from him, slamming the lounge door behind her, shutting him out.

'Connie' he pressed his hand lightly against the door and spoke softly to her through the heavy oak panelling 'can I come in?'
'Leave me Michael' she told him in a voice thick with tears 'I don't want you near me'
'Connie, please…' he felt the tears come to his own eyes but didn't know how to reach out to her 'I want to help you'
'Michael…' her voice came closer and he knew she was just the other side of the door from him, the wooden barrier between them less substantial than the emotional gulf that had formed between them in the past few days 'please, I can't be near you right now. Weren't we invited to a party tonight?'
'You want me to go to a party?' he was incredulous that after everything that had happened to them, she was expecting him to go out and pretend that everything was fine. To celebrate when all he wanted to do was cry.
'I want you to leave me alone' she told him softly 'please, I need time'
'Okay' he said softly, sensing that his presence was making it all worse for her. Reminding her that she wasn't the only one to have lost something. Causing her to blame herself when it wasn't her fault.
'Thank you' she whispered and he heard her move away from the door and the soft thump as she crumpled painfully onto the expensive leather sofa.

Admitting defeat, he went and changed, entering what felt like a parallel universe as he pulled on his best suit and chose a colourful tie that fitted the occasion but was a million miles from his mood. Moving back down the stairs he saw that the lounge door was open and saw her lying, pale and puffy eyed on the sofa, lost in her own personal nightmare. Fighting every urge to take her in his arms and never let her go he hovered by the door to the lounge, waiting for her to notice him.
'I'm off' he said eventually and she dragged her eyes up to his face, her own expression remaining doom-laden
'Have fun' she said dully, stopping short of looking him in the eye and shutting her own eyes tiredly 'I'll see you tomorrow'
'Yeah' he nodded. He didn't wish her a Happy New Year; it wasn't even something they could contemplate.

She stepped into the hall and nausea overcame her causing her to break into a run as she shot into the downstairs bathroom and throw up until she felt there couldn't possibly be anything left inside her. Slowly she pulled herself to her feet and splashed cold water onto her clammy face, feeling it refresh her slightly and soothe her puffy skin. When she felt steady enough she let go of the sink, stepping sideways slightly and making wobbly progress to the kitchen where she poured a large glass of water and took a long drink, resting the cold glass against her cheek and shutting her eyes lightly, feeling the familiarity of the action calm her slightly.

Minutes passed and she felt strong enough to attempt the stairs, confident that she would at least make it to the top before she broke down. Climbing the stairs, her mind raced with thoughts of everything that had happened and she sank to her knees, curling up against the banister. As she sat there, she realised that she'd finally run out of tears and seemed to be in a state of advanced shock. Leaning her head against the wall, she lost herself in the thoughts that plagued her night and day. Michael, Fiona, their baby, her baby, the big empty house that she'd grown to hate, the job that was the only thing that kept her going except she was even failing at that now.

For half an hour, an hour or perhaps more – she had long ago lost all sense of time – she sat in a trance like state in the hall, lost in her own world of pain but slowly she returned to the land of the living, suddenly filled with an overwhelming exhaustion. The trauma and distress that had overtaken her since the last time she'd been home hit her like a tonne of bricks leaving her incapable of doing anything except crawling to the bed and shutting her eyes, praying that for once sleep would not elude her. As she drifted off, her dreams plagued with painful memories, she didn't hear the key turn in the lock downstairs.

Michael lay his keys on the hall table and hung his coat on the hooks by the door before moving slowly into the house. Making his way wearily to the bottom of the stairs, he started to trudge upwards, not seeing the large brown bag that was tucked neatly under the hall table or paying much attention to another of his wife's coats hanging in the hall that hadn't been there when he'd left for his one day a week in the office that morning.

Slowly he moved into the landing and crossed to the bedroom door, reaching out and turning the handle gently, the room filling with light from the hall as the door opened, illuminating his wife's sleeping form. Stifling a gasp of horror at the state she was in, he crossed to the bed, taking in her pale complexion, puffy cheeks or dishevelled appearance. She certainly wasn't the immaculate woman he expected her to be. Sensing that she was exhausted and needed the sleep he grabbed a t-shirt from the drawer and backed from the room, haunted by the sudden realisation that she was destroyed. That he had broken her completely.

He walked slowly now, down the hall to the spare room where he flicked on the light and sat heavily on the bed, struggling to hold back his own tears as he realised just what he had done to the woman he now realised he loved more than anyone else in the world. Fiona hadn't been in touch but he found he didn't care. There was only room for Connie in his heart though he knew that she would never believe him. That the damage he had done was too great. He could see no way to put things right between them. Eventually he lay down, the exhaustion and desperation that filled the air leaving him with no better ideas than to attempt to sleep. Shutting his eyes, he found that he drifted off into a deep sleep, dreaming the same dreams that his wife dreamt in the next room.

It was Christmas Eve on the cardiothorasic ward of St Thomas's hospital where Connie was senior registrar and Michael her consultant. She had operated on six patients and had to admit, she was starting to feel a little tired, blaming her workload as much as she blamed the fact that she was three months pregnant and had been feeling off-colour for weeks.
'You're exhausted' Michael commented as she walked lethargically from another patient's cubicle, rubbing her face softly 'you should go home'
'I will' she stifled a yawn 'my shift finishes in half an hour and then you can take me home'
'Okay' he was satisfied with this, seeing no point in upsetting his ambitious wife who didn't seem to be about to let a little thing like a baby get in the way of making it to the top in record time, by suggesting that perhaps she'd like to spend the next half hour lying down in the staff room 'but you rest tonight'
'Yeah' she nodded, giving him a small smile as she made her way across the ward to her next patient, strolling with a confidence that he hadn't seen in a registrar before. As he turned back to his own patient, he saw her fall, watched her crumple to the ground, a stunned gasp of pain escaping her mouth and echoing around the ward as she hit the ground unconscious. Turning to his patient, his face a mask of shocked horror he muttered an apology and then turned, running to her side, crouching by her as nurses and doctors all rushed over to see what was happening.

'We need to get her into theatre' the obstetrician who had been called to examine her announced after minimal prodding of her abdomen 'I want to perform a scan but I think the pregnancy is ectopic'
'Ectopic?' Michael repeated slowly, not understanding what was happening – she had been fine moments before and now she was lying unconscious on a trolley and they were talking about surgery.
'The pregnancy was in her fallopian tube' the doctor pointed to a small shaded area on the ultrasound 'it's ruptured. Call theatre, tell them we're on our way and get eight units of o-neg on standby'
'What are you going to do to her?' Michael asked, as she was spirited away down the corridor by a team of nurses and porters to be prepared for emergency surgery
'We have to repair the damage and stop the bleeding' the other doctor explained gently 'wait in the relative's room and we'll tell you as soon as we know anything'

Michael sat in the relative's room for hours although to him it seemed like days. He noticed things he'd never paid a lot of attention to before; the fact that the shade of green the walls were painted only served to make you feel more sick than you already were, the gaudy thin tinsel that adorned every wall in a vain attempt to bring Christmas spirit not helping matters, the fact that the foam and metal chairs gave you back-ache if you sat in them for more than a couple of minutes, the fact that the coffee from the machine looked, smelt and tasted like toilet cleaner. He used these flaws to distract himself, mentally writing a report about how the facilities could be improved, unable to bring himself to think about his wife, lying in theatre.

He'd been there for two hours when he became aware of commotion outside in the corridor; people running towards the theatre carrying the red padded bags used to deliver blood, the crash call going out and more people running, the pace becoming more frantic as he stood in the doorway watching the movement in horror, a vague terror settling in the pit of his stomach that on the other side of that door, his wife was slipping away. He stopped any nurses who weren't running to his wife's aid and asked what was happening but they didn't seem to know or were unwilling to tell him, instructing him to wait in the relative's room until a doctor came to talk to him.

Another hour passed and the surgeon emerged from theatre looking drained and distressed, immediately making for Michael and shutting the door, fixing him with a look of sympathy that he knew all to well having dealt it out to countless relatives over the years. He now realised how terrible it felt to be on the receiving end.
'Is she okay?' he asked quietly as the doctor instructed him to sit down and perched opposite him on the uncomfortable chairs
'She's on ITU' the doctor said softly and Michael was filled with relief that she was in fact, alive 'she had major internal bleeding and I'm afraid…' the doctor paused for a moment, composing himself before continuing 'we had no choice but to perform a hysterectomy. Without it, she would have bled to death. She's had twenty units of blood but she's stable now. If you'd like you can see her'

Slowly the surgeon let him up the corridor to the ITU where he sent most of his own patients on a daily basis. Only today did the hiss of the airtight door fill him with terror. Only today did the sounds of the beeping, reassuring as they meant that the patient was at least alive, cut through him like a knife. He was shown through the ward to a private room at the back of the unit where his wife lay, pale but puffy from the blood that had been frantically pumped into her as they battled to keep her alive, the various monitors beeping dully telling the doctors everything they needed to know about his wife's condition. He felt himself shaking as he stepped inside, hearing the door hiss shut behind him. Glancing at the doctor for permission, which was granted by a barely perceptible nod, he took her clammy hand and held it tightly, willing her to wake up.

When Connie awoke in the small hours of the morning, vaguely disconcerted to find that she was lying in her own bedroom but had to recollection of how she'd got there, she felt better. For a minute, she didn't feel depressed, she didn't feel tired and she didn't feel like throwing herself off the roof of the hospital might not be such a bad idea. Then she glanced to her side and realised that Michael wasn't beside her and a dull feeling of grief settled in the pit of her stomach as she remembered everything that had happened. Within seconds, a dull pounding had settled in her head and she was driven from the bed, her mind on finding the painkillers with the highest paracetamol content and taking two or perhaps twenty, depending on how the mood took her.

She rattled around the kitchen, finding the tablets where she'd left them and punching two from the card, slipping the box back into the drawer, deciding that Michael probably wasn't worth an agonising death from liver failure. Pouring herself a large glass of cold water she took the tablets and sat down at the table, rubbing her head tiredly, wondering if it was worth going and trying to get another few hours sleep or whether she'd just lie in bed and think about everything she tried to forget. Shutting her eyes to protect them from the light that bit into them, she sat at the table. She didn't know how long she had been there for when she became aware that she wasn't alone in the kitchen. Taking a deep breath of the familiar aftershave she turned to him, staring at him wearily, unable to decide whether she wanted to kill him or just ask him to hold her.

'What are you doing here?' she asked dully, standing and turning away from him 'I would have thought you were too much of a coward to come back here and face me'
'I had nowhere else to go' he sighed heavily and sat at the table 'you haven't been home…'
'I couldn't face it' she told him softly 'I stayed in my office'
'I'm so sorry, Connie' he told her, unable to think of anything else to say. Apologising profusely seemed like as good a place as any to begin
'I could forgive you…' she mused, more to herself than to him 'I could have forgiven you being with Fiona. I could probably have forgiven you marrying her when you were still married to me, although it would have been difficult' she paused again, firing him a stare filled with hate 'you know the thing that I can't forgive you for?'
'The timing' he stated dully but she shook her head furiously at him and sat down again, slamming her drink onto the table causing water to spill onto the shiny waxed pine
'You were going to leave me for her' Connie told him dully 'not because you loved her more than me – I don't believe that you did – but because she could give you the one thing in the world that I can't'
'She gave me an ultimatum…' he trailed off, knowing attempting to explain was useless
'I don't care' Connie stated sadly 'When I lost our baby and any prospect of having a child, I was terrified that you'd find another woman who could give you the child you wanted and leave me. What you did…' she paused for a moment to compose herself 'it confirmed every fear I've ever had. It confirmed that I wasn't enough for you on my own; that I would never be enough because I couldn't have your baby'
'That's not true' he tried but he knew how it would look to his wife
'Oh but it is' she sighed heavily and stood up, walking out into the hall, pulling on her coat over her pyjamas and picking up her handbag 'don't even think about following me'

Connie managed to hold in the tears until she reached the car. Leaning her head gently on the wheel she cried, knowing that her marriage, such that it was, had ended for good. She couldn't forgive Michael. She couldn't live with the knowledge that at any given time he could leave her for a woman who could give him the child she wanted. But if she couldn't have him, she knew one thing – no one else could. With renewed strength she took her handbag and rooted through it, searching for the one piece of paper that she'd had the foresight to take from the house before she'd left. Checking that it was safely tucked in her diary she pushed the key into the ignition and drove off, knowing what she had to do.

PC Doncaster was bored; she'd been stuck behind the front desk of the police station for hours and was more than ready to pack up and go home. There was nothing worse than a night where no one broke the law. Examining her fingernails boredly, she almost didn't notice the slightly dishevelled woman push through the doors, dressed in a smart white woollen coat, boots and pyjamas.
'I'd like to report a crime' Connie announced as she approached the desk and the PC realised that this woman may have looked like she'd escaped the local funny farm but she seemed frighteningly sane.
'Details?' the PC poised her pen idly over the sheet of paper, ready to write down whatever broken by-law this woman wanted investigating
'Its my husband, it seems he's committed bigamy' Connie bit her lip gently and the police officer smiled
'Well then' the PC said softly 'I think you'd better come through'

After his wife walked out on him, Michael sat in the kitchen, contemplating the wreck that was his life. He knew she wouldn't be back – that he could forget having another chance – and he fully expected to be served with divorce papers very shortly. Fiona still wouldn't speak to him except to tell him to keep away from her and their child, that since they weren't legally married, he had no rights over the baby, and to his horror he realised she was right. He also realised that to pursue access would involve an examination of him close enough to show up some irregularities – missed tax returns, unpaid parking tickets, two wives – and that could only lead to trouble that he could quite do without, so he knew he would never know his child. He really had lost everything and he knew he only had himself to blame. He was about to head back to bed when he heard a knock at the door and his heart lifted; perhaps Connie had come back. Perhaps Fiona had a change of heart. Opening the door the smile on his face dropped at the sight of two uniformed police officers and one plain clothed standing on his doorstep looking less than amused.
'Can I help you officers?' he asked slowly, seeing Connie leaning on her car, still dressed in her pyjamas and a coat, watching the events unfolding with a look of pleasure he hadn't seen in her eyes for a long time.
'Michael Beauchamp?' one of the officers asked, his hand toying with the handcuffs clipped to his side, hoping that this bloke would give him a chance to use them and possibly his asp
'Yes' he stammered, having a horrible feeling that he knew what was happening
'Michael Beauchamp, I am arresting you on suspicion of committing bigamy…' the police officer parroted his rights but he wasn't listening. His eyes were fixed on his wife and the fact that for the first time in a long while, she was laughing