Wrath Of A Woman

Prologue

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to individuals dead or alive, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be copied or transformed into any form without the express consent of the author. Please respect the author's hard work.

©Ko Maat,
December 2019.

                   Prologue.

“The truth . . . it is a terrible and beautiful thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution.”
            —JK Rowling.

The minute her car came to a stop, it was game-on. She waited, as always, for her driver to sidle up to her side of the door. She grabbed her purse, ready for the onslaught of reporters and cameras.

“Ready when you are, ma’am.”

She nodded. Her door slid open, with it a gust of cold air that would’ve numbed her if she wasn’t heavily bundled up in clothing.

The previous day’s snow had been shovelled away. Yet it didn't take away the chill in the air and the steam that billowed out of the mouths of the people gathered at the Zachary Bennett Memorial Hospital. These reporters had left the comfort of their homes to chase after the ‘bored wife of a wealthy man looking to score a few points in the philanthropic department.’ They had said that in yesterday's papers. Today, they were here. She should ignore them, stay in the car and let the hospital deal with the mess. She gave them a wave instead. Whether she was news-worthy enough to sell papers, was up to them.

Dave closed the door with a solid thunk, ushering her into a world of chaos and unwarranted questions. The hospital stood behind the reporters, a mammoth of brick and glass looming at the sky.

“Mrs. Kendall who are you wearing?”

“Mrs. Kendall is it true you’ve raised millions to renovate this hospital's east wing?”

“Mrs. Kendall, have you stayed out of the public eye because you’re pregnant?”

“Mrs. Kendall?”

“Mrs. Kendall!”

The barrage of questions were as annoying as the questions themselves were ridiculous. They hovered like vultures to carrion, cameras shuttering and recorders thrust forward to capture the smallest of sound. Dave cut a swathe through them for her, saying softly but firmly that Mrs. Kendall was not taking questions. They were not easily discouraged.

When she entered the hospital, her sigh was one of relief.

“Welcome to Zachary Bennett Memorial, Mrs. Kendall. On behalf of everyone, I apologize for the raucous outside.”

She turned. “Clarissa. Thank you. No need to apologize, that is a daily occurrence.”

The hospital administrator looked at her wristwatch. “We're a few minutes behind schedule. The patients are ready to meet you. A nurse from radiotherapy wi—”