Chapter 85 You Deserve a Better Life
The afternoon sun carried a gentle warmth, spilling across the small garden of the inpatient wing. A nurse pushed a wheelchair slowly along the paved path, the wheels whispering against the stone.
Isabella sat wrapped in a thick blanket, her profile pale as porcelain drained of all color. Her eyes held a distant emptiness, fixed on a horizon that was never there.
The nurse stopped in a patch of light. "Ms. Tudor, the sun's beautiful today. I'll bring you out more often so you can enjoy it."
Isabella didn't respond. The nurse had grown used to her silence. She adjusted the wheelchair's angle, smiling faintly. "I have to pick up a report. I'll be back in just a moment. Please don't move from here."
Isabella met her gaze briefly and gave a small nod. The nurse left, reassured.
The sunlight was strong, settling over Isabella like a quiet blanket. She closed her eyes, listening to the rustle of leaves as the wind threaded through the branches.
Suddenly, a sharp cry broke the stillness—a cat's desperate mew from somewhere above. Her eyes opened. A small kitten dangled from a branch, hind legs kicking, claws slipping against the bark. Its tiny body trembled with exhaustion.
A few passersby hurried to find something to help, but the kitten's grip was failing. Isabella judged the height with a single glance. If it fell, it would almost certainly be hurt.
Something in the animal's helplessness mirrored her own.
The moment it lost its hold, Isabella moved without thinking. Pain shot through her stitched arm as she lunged forward, her bones screaming in protest. She positioned herself beneath the branch, using her back to break the kitten's fall.
It landed lightly against her thin frame, letting out one startled cry before curling into a ball. Isabella's body shook with pain, cold sweat beading across her forehead. Blood seeped through the edge of her bandage.
She stayed still, afraid to frighten the fragile creature. Only after several long breaths did she lift her head and cradle it in her hands.
"You have to be careful. Don't climb that high again... it's dangerous, understand?"
Her fingers were cold, but her touch was delicate, as if she were holding something that could shatter at the slightest pressure. Her gaze held a fragile tenderness.
The kitten pressed closer into her palm. She raised it gently.
"I'm sorry. I can't take you with me. You should leave... find someone who can give you a good home."
Her situation made keeping a pet impossible. One day, she might disappear from this world entirely.
The kitten mewed twice, nuzzled her hand, and slipped into the bushes.
Isabella watched it go, a faint, long-forgotten smile touching her lips.
From a distance, Thomas had seen everything.
He spotted her crouched on the ground, and it took all his restraint not to rush over. He couldn't let her know he was there—not yet.
Relief washed over him. The Isabella he knew hadn't changed. A woman who couldn't bear to harm a small animal could never have hurt him out of malice. Whatever she had done to him, or to Ambrose, he believed she had been forced.
He would save her.
For days, he and Ambrose had been planning. To take Isabella away from William, they needed flawless preparation. They would only get one chance. Even if it cost them their lives, they were ready.
Thomas watched her struggle to stand, the blood soaking into her bandage, and felt his chest tighten painfully.
He was just about to step forward when the nurse returned.
"Ms. Tudor, are you alright?"
Isabella shook her head. With the nurse's help, she eased back into the wheelchair.
"You're bleeding again. Let's get you checked."
Once they were gone, Thomas walked to the bushes and found the kitten still hiding. He had seen how much Isabella wanted to keep it, but couldn't. He would take that burden for her.
"Come on," he murmured, lifting it. "From now on, you're Snowy."
Back in her room, the nurse unwrapped the bandage. Thankfully, the wound hadn't reopened—only bled. She rewrapped it carefully, afraid of causing pain.
Isabella never cried out, no matter how deep the injury. Only the cold sweat on her brow betrayed her discomfort.
"Ms. Tudor, does it hurt?" the nurse asked.
"Yes," Isabella said simply.
"Then why don't you say something?"
She didn't answer. Pain was pointless to voice.
That night, Thomas kept watch outside her door. He needed to see for himself whether last night's dangerous episode had been a fever dream or something worse.
It was close to two in the morning when Isabella stirred. A voice, warm and familiar, seemed to call to her.
She opened her eyes and saw her grandmother standing there.
"Grandma?"
"Is it really you?"
It had been so long since she'd seen her grandmother, even in dreams.
Her grandmother stared at her, silent, her face shadowed with disapproval.
"Are you angry with me? For losing the watch? For breaking the pendant? For not keeping your bracelet safe?"
No reply. Panic rose in Isabella's chest. She threw off the blanket and stood, ignoring the pain.
"I'm sorry... it's all my fault. Please don't go. I miss you."
"Wait for me..."
She moved toward the window, just as she had the night before.
Thomas rushed in, catching her. "Isabella, stop. Don't go."
"Let me go! I have to find her!"
He carried her back to bed, checking her forehead—no fever. The tears streaming down her face tore at him.
He held her gently, rubbing her shoulder. "Isabella... sleep. Just hold on a little longer. You'll be free from this pain soon."
"You will live. You will find happiness."
"You deserve better."
The warmth in his voice wrapped around her like sunlight. She closed her eyes and drifted into sleep.
When morning came, it felt as though she had woken from a long, deep dream. In it, she had been wrapped in sunlight, safe, and at peace. She couldn't remember the last time she had slept so well.
The nurse brought breakfast and medicine. Isabella noticed the pills looked different but didn't ask. She swallowed them without question.
Thomas had asked the doctor to add something—an antidepressant. The doctor had suspected her condition for some time, urging her to see a psychiatrist, but she had refused.
Thomas now understood. This was only a temporary fix. As long as she stayed here, the illness would linger, perhaps worsen.
The only cure was to take her away from William.