Chapter 210


    In the quiet hallway, Brett leaned against a wall, his head lowered. Shadows veiled his entire face,


    making the passing janitors hesitant to approach him.


    Izabe was being resuscitated, and Brett looked at his own fingers - this was the ninth time she''d


    needed resuscitation in the ny days since she''d been hospitalized.


    Each time Izabe was taken into the emergency room, Brett regretted it so much that he wanted to


    kill himself. He''d never felt so powerless, like a piece of wood floating in the sea.


    Liam came by again today and found it weird to see Brett standing in the hallway. Usually, whenever


    he came, Brett would be guarding Izabe in her room, barely moving at all. Why was he taking a


    breather in the hallway today?


    Liam, a sharp-minded person, sensed something was wrong even before he got close.


    He stopped about a meter away from Brett and asked, "President Windham, what are you doing


    here?" It was an odd question for a subordinate to ask, especially when he shouldn''t be prying into


    his boss''s business. Even if he was curious, he should have kept it to himself.


    Just as Liam thought of changing the subject, Brett spoke up in a hoarse voice, "Izabe''s awake."


    "Your wife''s awake? Then why…" Liam abruptly stopped speaking when he saw the light above the


    emergency room door not far away. This exined why Brett was standing there instead of going in


    to apany Izabe.


    Watching Brett continuously rub his temples, Liam couldn''t help but say softly, "Don''t worry,


    President Windham. Your wife will be fine since she has woken up."


    To have woken up after three months ofa was already a miracle. What else could be


    impossible?


    "Your wife will be alright," Liam offered constion.


    But Brett didn''t hear a word of it as his heart ached, not just for Izabe''s critical condition, but for


    the insurmountable rift between them.


    Seeing Izabe''s face when she woke up, he knew they could never go back.


    Izabe could never forgive him. During her battle with stomach cancer, her own husband had


    pushed her into the abyss, where she was tormented and left in despair.


    An hourter, Izabe was finally wheeled out of the emergency room. She was still pale, her lips


    bluish, and her brows furrowed in her sleep as if she was struggling in a nightmare.


    The sight of delicate Izabe once again pierced Brett''s heart. Izabe''s condition was just a


    temporary reprieve, and she could still face more dire situations like today.


    What''s more, herte-stage stomach cancer was already beyond help, and no one knew how long


    she could live.


    The doctor told Brett about Izabe''s condition truthfully, but he was so out of it that he just stared at


    her nkly, as if he was in a trance.


    It was Liam who ended up remembering all the details. In summary, the damage Izabe had


    suffered had gone beyond the average person''s tolerance.


    The doctor mentioned two types of damage: one was her stomach cancer, and the other was the


    five doses of medicine injected into her brain.


    Herte-stage stomach cancer had been discovered a year ago in a hospital check-up, and it was


    impressive that she had hung on for so long.


    The five nerve-destroying medications, however, had further devastated her body.


    On top of that, as Izabe had a history of depression, her brain nerves had be quite fragile


    due to the medication.


    "What consequences will that lead to?" Brett asked, willing to take all responsibility, even if it meant


    facing a mentally unstable mad woman. As long as Izabe didn''t die, everything was fine.


    However, Brett''s thinking was quite naive.


    The doctor said, "The medications have caused Ms. Salotti''s disorientation and memory disorder."


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    "What do you mean by ''memory disorder''?"


    "Based on our preliminary assessment, there are two possibilities. The better one isplete


    amnesia, and the worse one is remembering only the frightening things that happened, like just


    now."


    Fear was an inevitable negative emotion for people, but being continuously immersed in fear,


    tension, anxiety, and horror, Izabe would surely die even without stomach cancer.


    "How can we make her forget everything?" Brett wondered whether they could start over if Izabe


    forgot everything.


    If she were truly amnesiac, he would take care of her and protect her this time, never letting her to


    be hurt again.


    However, the doctor shook his head, "These are things we can''t control, Mr. Windham, we suggest


    that you temporarily take a step back. I''m worried about what would happen if Ms. Salotti wakes up


    and sees you." The implication was clear.


    Brett nodded, unable to be close to Izabe when she was awake and not knowing when she would


    wake up again. He dared not stay in her room and paced out to the hallway, watching her from afar.


    The hospital''s psychologist came to provide counseling for Izabe, but her situation was very


    different from most psychiatric patients.


    Both her body and mind had suffered severe traumas, etched into her soul indelibly, and even


    thinking about it was excruciating.


    Upon seeing another person, Izabe would scream in fear, and she would beg for mercy when the


    doctor took out sedatives to inject her.


    "Don''t give me the shot, it hurts too much."


    Standing outside the door, Brett felt cold all over his body as Izabe''s pleas seemed like sharp


    knives stabbing his heart relentlessly, making him bleed internally.


    Over the course of a few days, Izabe would curl her body under the covers, jumping up like a


    frightened cat at the slightest noise, and looking around in horror.


    She was afraid of everyone around her, but even more so of Brett. Although her memory wasn''t


    good, she remembered all the pain Brett had caused her.


    Stealing nces at her through the ss on the door, Brett saw Izabe with her head bowed, chin


    pressed against her chest, and her body trembling slightly. Seeing Izabe like this, he felt it was


    like someone were cutting his flesh with a knife.


    The psychologist would counsel Izabe twice a day - once in the morning, and once in the


    afternoon.


    Following these counseling sessions, Izabe wasn''t as panicked when facing the psychologist as


    she used to be. However, the prolonged state of intense mental stress made Izabe, who was


    already thin, even thinner.


    Under the guidance of the psychiatrist, Izabe began to speak. Her eyes darted around the room


    until theynded on a light hanging on the wall. She pointed to it and said, "That''s a camera, he''s


    watching me from inside."


    "Who''s he?" the doctor asked.


    Izabe huddled by the bed, leaning against a cab, staring nkly at the floor tiles. She hugged


    her knees and softly spoke a single word with her index finger pressed to her lips: "Ghost."


    "What did he do to you?" The doctor''s task was to make her face her past, to help her understand


    that it was all behind her now, and that she couldn’t get stuck in it.


    All of a sudden, Izabe felt a wave of stiffness and then looked down at her hands. "My hands, he


    pierced my nails with steel needles, and also, he gave me injections."


    "Your hands have healed, and you won''t get pricked by needles anymore."


    Izabe shook her head, her face filled with crazed fear. She covered her neck, felt the fabric


    tearing down her cor and saw a very obvious scar on her corbone.


    Izabe pointed at her corbone, "It was pierced through here."


    The doctor felt a surge of pain seeing this. When he was asked to give Izabe psychological


    counseling, he was told the patient had suffered serious traumas.


    He had considered many scenarios, but what the patient had encountered was beyond his


    imagination. He dared not touch Izabe; he could only squat down, look straight into her eyes, and


    gently said, "The weapon in your corbone has been taken out, and the wound has healed."


    Izabe shook her head, tears streaming from her eyes. "It''ll never get better, never."


    Her physical injury was just the surface; the real pain was in her heart. She had forgotten many


    things, but besides the pain, she also felt like she lost something important that she could never


    recover.


    It was like half of her heart had been gnawed away, leaving her empty and anxious.


    "Don''t cry, Izabe. I can help you."


    Hearing the word "help," Izabe''s body suddenly tensed up. She hugged her knees tightly, her


    eyshes trembled as she looked up at the doctor.


    "Can you give me a gun?" Izabe asked cautiously.


    "What do you need a gun for?"


    Izabe replied, "To shoot myself."


    The doctor''s mouth hung open, unable to say a word.


    Eventually, Izabe, as usual, went into a frenzy. She was afraid of needles, and the doctor didn''t


    dare give her a sedative, so he had to coax her into taking her medicine.


    Izabe curled up in bed like a scared child, feeling a little cold. She embraced herself under the


    covers, enduring her pain in silence.


    She stared at the familiar silhouette on the windows and doors, her eyes finally closing in


    exhaustion.


    Izabe''s consciousness grew more and more blurry, her speech was jumbled, and she frequently


    forgot what she was saying halfway through.


    She was doing better than before, but only Izabe herself knew the truth. She was like a prisoner


    on the verge of copse, her bed a spiked board. No matter how she tried to position herself, she


    was in pain.


    Sometimes, she even felt her soul separating from her body, floating in the air above as she looked


    down at her crying self. She could hear her own anguished cries and wanted to cry as well, but her


    soul was dried up.


    What even was life? She didn''t know anymore, she was terrified, and only death could bring her


    relief.


    With her soul peacefully floating in the air, Izabe slept for a long time, murmuring, "Will you carry


    me back home?"


    Who was going to carry her home? She couldn''t remember.


    Brett watched her intently, his expression filled with pain. He gently caressed her face, and leaned


    in to kiss her lips.


    Having learned his lesson and heeding the doctor''s warning, Brett didn''t dare enter the room when


    Izabe was awake. Instead, he sneaked in when she was asleep and sat quietly by the bed, often


    staying the whole night.


    Regret wouldn''t undo his mistakes; a dead heart couldn''t be mended with anything. By the time


    Brett learned to cherish and love her, it was toote.


    They were separated by a wall; a wall that divided two different worlds. Brett stood on the shore,


    while Izabe was sinking at the bottom of the ocean.


    If Izabe were to depart this world, he wouldn''t want anything either. He''d be willing to depart


    alongside her.