Dr. Hugh said, "She has severe self-harm tendencies. The patient refuses any examination, but based on her symptoms, she has moderate depression. If not treated promptly, it will develop into severe depression, and the chances of suicide are very high."
The word "suicide" hit him hard in the chest, causing him to gasp for air.
"How long... how long does the process take?"
"It depends on her. By the way, last time I asked but got no answer, how long has it been since she spoke?"
Evan recalled, a lump in his throat, "About two months."
Dr. Hugh frowned, "Didn't you find that strange?"
"I thought... she didn't want to talk to me." He turned his head, suddenly remembering her empty gaze.
"Has anything particularly difficult for her to accept happened recently? As her husband, you should know best."
Difficult to accept?
He neglected her, cheated on her, his mistress got pregnant and confronted her, and... he tormented her in countless ways.
So many things, indeed.
Dr. Hugh was surprised to see this man’s eyes turning red.
"It's my fault... I wronged her."
Evan turned and left.
He needed to find her.
Half a month later.
In the suburbs.
“Take your medicine.” Edward held out a pill in one hand and a glass of water in the other, offering them to her, curled up in a ball.
Zoe lifted her head, managing a smile that was worse than crying.
But just for a moment, her lips dropped back down.
She took the medicine and swallowed it.
“Want to go outside and have a look? It’s Christmas Eve today, the fireworks are beautiful.” Edward said with a faint smile, taking the empty glass from her.
Zoe shook her head, hugging the pillow tighter.
Because of her self-harm, the spacious room had nothing but a bed.
Yet she still managed to bang her head against the wall; one night the banging scared him half to death.
He tried to persuade Zoe to stop.
But she wouldn’t listen.
“Feeling any better today?” Edward sat by the bed, like an old friend.
The room was too dark, the heavy curtains drawn, making it hard to see her face.
Zoe nodded, then shook her head.
“Well, that’s still something. It’ll get better, hang in there!” He thought for a moment, “Tomorrow’s the New Year, how about I get you a present?”
She turned her head, half her face hidden in her arms, and nodded again.
“Then, Zoe, you’ve got to get better.” Edward smiled warmly, like a boy next door.
She wanted to smile too, but couldn’t.
“Alright, I’ll go make some porridge for you.” He closed the door, and the room returned to silence.
Zoe looked at the closed door, tears streaming down her face.
She cried secretly often but didn’t know why she didn’t want to see the sunlight, didn’t want to smile, didn’t want to speak.
She was very sick.
Right, it’s Christmas Eve, her birthday.
She lay down, burying herself in the covers, making no sound.
Evan prepared a table full of dishes for Zoe, and a big cake from her favorite bakery.
Today was her birthday.
The dishes on the table didn’t look very good; some were too salty, others too bland.
He opened the cake and lit the candles.
It was her 28th birthday.
Evan remembered clearly, they celebrated together every year.
He quietly ate a piece of cake, then put it down, covering his face.
Where was she now? Why hadn't she come back to him?
He swore, if she came back, he would make it up to her... no, ten times over, and make up for all the suffering she had endured.
