The SUBSTITUTE WIFE RETURNS

nd the quiet ticking of the clock did not help to soothe the pit in my stomach. Dr. Morrison, the expert who had treated me long, cleared his throat and started talking. "I am afrai

f food. It was a merry and talking house, a sharp contrast to what life had in store for me, a dark and soundless life. One of the maids, a young girl I had been brought up with, had seen me, and called after me, in a low voice, "Miss Ariana, your father is seeking you. He demanded once you are back you go see him in his at once." I nodded. I didn't speak. I was well aware of what that was. I went to the office of my father, and the sound of my footsteps on the marble floor was reminding me of my smallness in that large house. The door was open, and there he was, Richard Hale, my father, sitting behind his great mahogany desk, papers on his desk. "Where have you been? Why were you not at home all day? he demanded. His voice lacked warmth and concern, and was nothing but accusation. I hesitated, then spoke. "I went to see Dr. Morrison. He replied that my condition has deteriorated. He told me that my hearing and sight would not last much longer unless I keep taking my medicine. My voice shook slightly. "I... I need your help father. I'll even... I'll work if I have to. I just... I need the money to keep going." My father sat back on his chair and clasped his hands. His eyes were cold, calculating. "I have spent enough money on you, Ariana, "he said slowly. "Soon enough to bankrupt e should I go on. You have made me spend money in your entire life. Since you were born, you were a loss and a burden from beginning." I flinched. His language was harsh and hurtful , and I endeavoured not to get affected by it. I heard them once, many a time. "It-it's not my fault father." I mumbled. "Not your fault? Then whose fault is it?" he went on, his voice a little higher. "Your mother died giving birth to you. You were ill since you