Gone in the Flames novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Vitamin C
The vitamin C my husband bought me tasted bitter.
I told him so one Tuesday, during breakfast, with the bottle in my hand.
"It tastes like medicine, Eliseo."
"It's pure vitamin C, love." He kissed my forehead. "No sugar, no dyes. The best thing for your immune system."
"But it's so bitter."
"You'll get used to it."
I'd spent five years getting used to a lot of things.
I'm thirty-one years old, the only daughter of a medical equipment manufacturer, and I've been married to a cardiologist for five years.
Eliseo Cornejo is tall, with brown hair combed back, and teeth so perfect they look like they belong in an ad.
At Santa Beatriz Clinic parties, they say he's the best son-in-law any mother-in-law could wish for.
That morning, while he was putting on his coat to leave for work, I slipped a capsule into a handkerchief.
Two hours later, I was sitting in the waiting room of the same clinic.
I didn't want him to see me.
I asked for a general practitioner, who saw me with a tired smile.
I handed him the bottle.
"I'd like to know what's in this. My husband buys them for me, and they make me nauseous."
The doctor turned it between his fingers and smelled it.
He frowned.
He opened a capsule, touched the powder with his fingertip, and brought it to his tongue.
He went completely still.
"Ma'am."
"Yes?"
"This isn't vitamin C."
I felt my chest go hollow.
"What do you mean?"
"This isn't vitamin C. It's mifepristone."
"Excuse me? Could you repeat that?"
"I can repeat it as many times as you want, but it'll be the same answer." He set the bottle on the desk. "Mifepristone is used to terminate pregnancies. Taken in small, sustained doses over years, it doesn't just interrupt any pregnancy—it causes infertility and seriously damages the liver and kidneys."
I stared at the bottle.
I didn't even realize I was gripping it with both hands.
"That's impossible," I said. "This bottle was given to me by my husband. His name is Eliseo Cornejo. He's a cardiologist, he works at this very clinic."
The doctor's expression changed.
There was no surprise.
There was something more complicated, slower, that swept across my face with a kind of pity.
"Mrs. Cornejo."
"Yes."
"I'm going to be honest with you. Dr. Cornejo is very well liked here."
"I don't doubt it."
"We all know his wife."
I waited.
The doctor cleared his throat.
"He married Priscila Madariaga, the director's daughter. Just two months ago she gave birth to his son. He brought the baby to the clinic so everyone could meet him."
The air stopped in my throat.
I said nothing.
"With all due respect," he continued, with a rehearsed gentleness, "I think what you need is to talk to someone. I can give you a referral to psychiatry. Sometimes women, in moments of stress..."
"I'm not confused."
"No one's saying you are."
"I'm Violeta Rebolledo. I've been married to Eliseo Cornejo for five years. I have the certificate at home."
The doctor nodded slowly.
"Of course. Get some rest. Drink some water."
He stood up, opened the office door, and gestured for me to leave.
That was the dismissal.
I walked out into the hallway with the bottle in my purse.
I walked to the end of the corridor, where there was a tall window overlooking the parking lot.
I leaned against the frame.
I breathed once, twice, three times.
Mifepristone.
Five years.
Five years of stomach aches, of irregular periods, of visits to gynecologists who told me "it's stress, ma'am."
Five years of telling my husband I wanted a child, and hearing him reply:
"When you're stronger."
My hands were shaking.
But I didn't cry.
I took out my phone, searched for a name, and wrote a short message.
"Teresa. I need someone I trust to analyze something. Today."
The reply came in less than a minute.
"What's going on?"
"I'll tell you in person."
I put my phone away.
I headed for the elevator.
I was going to leave through the back door, to avoid running into anyone, when a cheerful voice stopped me.
"Excuse me!"
A young woman was walking toward me down the hallway, wearing a light blue nurse's uniform, pushing a baby stroller, with a wide smile.
She had brown hair pulled back in a neat bun and gray eyes, clear eyes, the kind that don't know how to lie.
"Are you Eliseo's cousin?" she asked.
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