Chapter 8 - THE WOMAN WHO REFUSED TO RUN
The kitchen incident shattered Vincent's fragile progress.
He stopped eating again.
Even the smell of broth made his stomach clench.
Norah watched him deteriorate.
His hands shook.
His face became pale.
He spent hours pacing the study.
The doctors warned that his condition required urgent attention.
Vincent resisted hospitalization.
He hated hospitals.
Hated the helplessness.
Hated the memories of the poisoning.
Norah found him sitting alone one afternoon.
An untouched tray rested beside him.
She stood in the doorway.
“Mr. Rossy?”
He didn't look up.
“Go away.”
She hesitated.
Then stepped inside.
“You need help.”
“I have doctors.”
“Then listen to them.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
“You don't understand.”
Norah looked at him.
“No. I don't understand what it's like to be poisoned.”
She paused.
“But I understand fear.”
He looked up.
She continued.
“I know what it's like to wake up every morning wondering whether someone will hurt you.”
Vincent stared.
“And I know what it's like to pretend you're fine because you can't afford to fall apart.”
Silence.
Norah moved toward the chair opposite him.
“Can I sit?”
He nodded.
She sat.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Then Vincent whispered:
“I'm tired.”
Norah looked at him.
He continued.
“I'm so tired of being afraid.”
Her expression softened.
“You don't have to prove you're strong by refusing help.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
Then nodded.
The next morning, he agreed to return to the hospital for nutritional support and further treatment.
May you like
It wasn't surrender.
It was survival.
