Twisted Ties of Love
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.

Izabella was being resuscitated, and Brett looked at his own fingers - this was the ninth time she'd needed resuscitation in the ninety days since she'd been hospitalized.

Each time Izabella 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 Izabella 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, "Izabella'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 explained why Brett was standing there instead of going in to accompany Izabella.

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 of coma was already a miracle. What else could be impossible?

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

But Brett didn't hear a word of it as his heart ached, not just for Izabella's critical condition, but for the insurmountable rift between them.

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

Izabella 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 hour later, Izabella 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 Izabella once again pierced Brett's heart. Izabella's condition was just a temporary reprieve, and she could still face more dire situations like today.

What's more, her late-stage stomach cancer was already beyond help, and no one knew how long she could live.

The doctor told Brett about Izabella's condition truthfully, but he was so out of it that he just stared at her blankly, as if he was in a trance.

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

Her late-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 Izabella had a history of depression, her brain nerves had become 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 Izabella 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."

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

"Based on our preliminary assessment, there are two possibilities. The better one is complete 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, Izabella would surely die even without stomach cancer.

"How can we make her forget everything?" Brett wondered whether they could start over if Izabella 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 Izabella 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 Izabella, 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, Izabella 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 Izabella's pleas seemed like sharp knives stabbing his heart relentlessly, making him bleed internally. Over the course of a few days, Izabella 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 glances at her through the glass on the door, Brett saw Izabella with her head bowed, chin pressed against her chest, and her body trembling slightly. Seeing Izabella like this, he felt it was like someone were cutting his flesh with a knife.

The psychologist would counsel Izabella twice a day - once in the morning, and once in the afternoon.

Following these counseling sessions, Izabella wasn't as panicked when facing the psychologist as she used to be. However, the prolonged state of intense mental stress made Izabella, who was already thin, even thinner.

Under the guidance of the psychiatrist, Izabella began to speak. Her eyes darted around the room until they landed 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.

Izabella huddled by the bed, leaning against a cabinet, staring blankly 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, Izabella 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."

Izabella shook her head, her face filled with crazed fear. She covered her neck, felt the fabric tearing down her collar and saw a very obvious scar on her collarbone. Izabella pointed at her collarbone, "It was pierced through here."

The doctor felt a surge of pain seeing this. When he was asked to give Izabella 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 Izabella; he could only squat down, look straight into her eyes, and gently said, "The weapon in your collarbone has been taken out, and the wound has healed."

Izabella 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, Izabella. I can help you."

Hearing the word "help," Izabella's body suddenly tensed up. She hugged her knees tightly, her eyelashes trembled as she looked up at the doctor.

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

"What do you need a gun for?"

Izabella replied, "To shoot myself."

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

Eventually, Izabella, 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.

Izabella 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.

Izabella'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 Izabella herself knew the truth. She was like a prisoner on the verge of collapse, 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, Izabella 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 Izabella 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 too late.

They were separated by a wall; a wall that divided two different worlds. Brett stood on the shore, while Izabella was sinking at the bottom of the ocean. If Izabella were to depart this world, he wouldn't want anything either. He'd be willing to depart alongside her.

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