Chapter 52 Death Was Too Kind for Her
For a fleeting moment, Isabella had allowed herself a selfish hope—after the accident, her parents would come to see her. Even if it was only to scold her, even if they brought nothing but judgment… at least she would see their faces.
But they never came. Not once.
The nurse pushed the door open, carrying a tray. She adjusted the bed so Isabella could sit up.
"Ms. Tudor, your body is too weak. You need to eat more to regain your strength."
Isabella could barely move one arm. Yesterday, William had yanked her so hard her shoulder had partially dislocated. Now even holding a fork was impossible.
Amara appeared at the doorway, catching sight of the scene. Her eyes brimmed instantly, and she rushed inside.
"Don't move. Let me."
Isabella turned her head away. The motion alone made her want to cry.
"Amara." Her voice was fragile, on the verge of breaking.
Amara hurried to the bedside, seeing she was even weaker than yesterday. "What happened? You were holding on yesterday. Now you look worse."
Isabella said nothing. The nurse hesitated, then spoke. "Her husband came yesterday. I don't know what set him off, but he smashed everything in the room… and then he—"
Realizing she'd said too much, the nurse cut herself short. "Anyway, she's in bad shape. She needs several more days of rest."
Amara didn't need details. She saw it in Isabella's eyes. She waved the nurse out.
Pouring a glass of water, she slipped an arm behind Isabella's shoulders, holding the cup to her lips.
"Isabella, I don't understand. He treats you like this, and you still stay? Leave him. Please."
In Amara's mind, staying with William was a slow death sentence.
Leave? Impossible.
Isabella would sooner die than walk away from him.
"Thank you, Amara. I'm fine."
"Fine? You nearly died. He's a bastard through and through."
Amara knew Isabella didn't love William. She just couldn't understand why she refused to go.
"Is he blackmailing you? Threatening you?"
Isabella met her eyes. The last person who asked that question had ended up in the hospital. She wouldn't let Amara be next.
"No."
"Then you love him?"
She hadn't loved him in a long time. But she didn't answer. Silence was safer.
Amara sighed. "Forget it. If you don't want to talk, I won't push. Let me feed you."
Isabella opened her mouth slowly, chewing with effort.
Amara watched her struggle. Every bite tasted like ash, every swallow a fight.
She'd been through something far worse than anything Amara had endured.
After only a few mouthfuls, Isabella said, "I'm full."
"One more bite."
She was so thin. The last time Amara had helped her up, she'd felt nothing but bone under her hands.
It wasn't pity, but sheer desperation to keep her alive.
Amara held the spoon to her lips. Isabella forced herself to take it, but before she could swallow, her stomach turned. She twisted away and vomited everything she'd eaten.
Amara frowned, exhaling sharply. This wasn't working. She told the nurse to set up a nutrient IV.
"Sorry. I wasted your effort."
"You should get a full checkup. You shouldn't be vomiting from a few bites."
"I'm fine."
She didn't care what was wrong with her body. As long as she was breathing, it was enough. If she wasn't… so be it.
"Isabella, if something happens to you, I'll be devastated. You need to get better."
"I will."
She'd survived worse. William wouldn't let her die easily. He'd keep her alive to suffer.
That night, Amara left. The room was silent again.
Isabella turned toward the window. Stars were scattered across the dark sky.
Someone once told her the dead become stars. Maybe Beatrice was one of them. Could Beatrice see her now? See her lying here, wrecked and alone? Would she care?
Her lips moved in a whisper. "Beatrice… I miss you. When will you come take me away… meet me in heaven?"
She kept her eyes on the sky as night bled into grey dawn.
She didn't feel tired. Didn't feel anything. She blinked only every so often, as if the world beyond the glass meant nothing.
Morning brought the doctor. He shook his head.
If she hadn't flinched and teared up during the dressing change, he might have thought she was a coma patient.
Then she heard voices in the hall—familiar voices. Her empty gaze shifted.
"Careful. If you feel faint, let Benjamin carry you."
"Godmother, I'm fine. You've made me stay so long, I'm practically fat now."
"You're my treasure. Of course I worry."
It was her mother.
Isabella pushed herself up on her elbows, catching sight of her parents walking with Juniper. William carried her things, a bouquet of sunflowers in his arms—Beatrice's favorite, now apparently Juniper's.
"Watch your step," William told her.
Juniper laughed. "You're all treating me like a child."
Isabella opened her mouth to call out, but no sound came. She watched them disappear down the corridor.
By noon, she was coughing again—this time blood, thick with clots. The doctor noted her severe weight loss, her weakness, her shallow breathing. He'd noticed it during her last exam.
"Ms. Tudor, you're coughing too often. Your weight loss is significant. This afternoon, I want a chest X-ray and a bronchoscopy."
"Okay."
He told the nurse to stay with her.
That afternoon, the nurse brought a wheelchair. They'd barely reached the hall when a patient collapsed nearby.
"Ms. Tudor, please wait here. I'll help."
"Go."
In her mind, anyone's life mattered more than hers.
She sat in the chair, listening to the commotion without reaction. Then a voice—familiar enough to make her turn.
"Nobody can find out this has anything to do with me. The Tudor couple are clueless. They still think I'm their precious girl."
Juniper's voice—sharp, cold.
"I can't wait any longer. This time the plan cannot fail. I'm going to destroy her completely."
Who was she talking about? Who was "her"?
The Juniper she knew was gentle. This Juniper was poison.
Isabella's mind spun. Something was wrong.
"I'm going to take everything from her."
Juniper turned then, meeting Isabella's gaze. For a moment, she froze. Then she smiled, lifted her shoulders in a casual shrug, and ended the call.