When I opened my eyes, I was being wheeled into a hospital corridor. My body ached, and my mind was clouded, but the cold voice of a policeman cut through the haze:
"Elysia is in there," he said, pointing to the intensive care unit. "Look at what you’ve done to her. Look at what you’ve cut her into!"
His tone grew harsher. "She hasn’t woken up yet, so how can she talk to you? You’ve seen her now like you wanted—so tell us your motive!"
I dragged myself toward the glass door of the ward, each step heavy with exhaustion. Through the glass, I saw Elysia’s pale, lifeless face on the bed.
Quietly, I shook my head. "I’ll only tell Elysia. If I wanted her dead, I would’ve killed her at home."
I didn’t want her to die. I wanted her to live—to bear the truth and suffer its weight for the rest of her life.
"You—!"
The policeman’s face turned crimson with fury. His anger made him lunge forward as if to drag me away, but his superior intervened.
"Get a grip," the captain barked, pushing the enraged officer aside. He sighed and turned to another officer. "Find the doctor. Ask when Elysia will wake up—or if there’s any way to wake her sooner."
I stood there, still as stone, waiting.