Chapter 21
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Mary didn’t care what happened to Ralph.
She lay quietly in her hospital bed.
Outside her room, hushed whispers from the nurses’ station drifted to her ears.
“Mr. Walker insisted on donating 800 milliliters of his own blood to save Mrs. Walker. The doctors warned him, but he wouldn’t listen. Now he’s paying the price.”
“When Mrs. Walker was trapped in the rubble, he dug through rocks and debris with his bare hands!
His fingers were shredded, yet he refused treatment. He barely ate for days… Now his wounds are festering with acute inflammation. His vitals are critical.
“Who’d imagine the CEO of Walker Group would reduce himself to this state? The company might see a change of leadership soon.”
Mary’s fingertips curled slightly.
The nurses’ voices faded, leaving the room in silence.
Memories flooded back-the terror she felt buried under debris, hearing frantic scraping sounds, hearing someone scream her name with increasing hoarseness and madness.
She knew it was Ralph’s voice-like a persistent demon haunting her, relentless even in
death!
Back then, she had one thought: Don’t save me. Don’t bring me back.
She’d rather have died forever in that rubble!
Yet he dragged her back at such cost?
Shredding his fingers digging?
Donating 800 milliliters of blood?
Why… why wouldn’t he let her go even now?
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Mary refused to relive that agony. She wouldn’t wake. She wouldn’t repeat those gory memories, lick her trampled dignity off the ground, or face the man who’d shattered her soul.
She lay listlessly, eyelids scaled shut.
Time blurred until hospital bed wheels rattled nearby.
A nurse protested: “Mr. Walker, your condition is critical! You must stay in bed!”
Mary’s heart jolted.
Ralph’s frail voice insisted: “My wife’s too far. Move our beds together.”
Beds clicked. The scent of doubled antiseptic stung her nostrils.
Though her eyes stayed closed, she felt his gaze burning her face.
Ralph looked deathly pale, yet his eyes blazed with obsessive madness.
“Mary…”
He rasped her name, voice sandpaper-rough. “Mary, I won’t let you out of my sight again. Never.”
Mary remained still.
Two days passed.
Ralph recovered slightly but never left her side.
That night, as Mary slept, the door whispered open.
A doctor in a white coat entered holding a report.
“Mr. Walker.
His expression tightened. “We need to discuss Mrs. Walker’s condition.”
Ralph instantly tensed. “What’s wrong?”
The doctor sighed. “Her physical functions are recovering. By all accounts, she should have woken up by now.’
”
Ralph’s breath hitched: “What do you mean?”
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“We suspect… she may have developed dissociative disorder.
Medically termed psychogenic coma, where the patient’s subconscious rejects reality and chooses to remain asleep.”
