Chapter 21: He was afraid Elisa would not wake up

Book:Mr. Burns Is Killing His Wife Published:2024-6-4

Hamish’s emotions gradually returned. He glanced at Micah, then turned and walked towards the ICU.
The room was filled with the smell of disinfectant. Hamish’s eyebrows unconsciously twisted together. He walked step by step to the bedside and looked at Elisa’s deathly pale face without a trace of vitality.
The ward was very quiet. The lonely and empty feeling was inescapable, different from being at home. The lifelessness made people feel stifled after staying for a while. Hamish sat down, looked up at the dripping infusion in the IV tube, and felt afraid for the first time.
What was he afraid of?
He was afraid that Elisa would just keep sleeping like this, never waking up again.
A burst of sourness rushed out of Hamish’s nose. The sourness was too strong, even bringing tears to his eyes. He trembled as he reached out to grasp Elisa’s slender wrist.
The hospital gown was already the smallest size, but it was still too big on Elisa. With a slight lift of her hand, the sleeve slipped down, revealing a few conspicuous needle holes on her fair arm, with a ring of purple-red and dried yellow medicine around them.
“Elisa, I didn’t know you were sick, so severely sick.”
He suddenly remembered that day when he had locked Elisa in the bedroom, and she had banged on the door and screamed that she was about to die.
At the time, he had scoffed, not taking it seriously, thinking she was just trying some tricks.
Just because he had never seen Elisa sick didn’t mean she couldn’t get sick or die.
Why didn’t he properly listen to her finish speaking and let her out back then?
“Elisa, Elisa.” Tears blurred his vision. He held Elisa’s hand, leaned in, and called her name over and over, trying to wake her up.
Time passed bit by bit. Micah came in halfway to check Elisa’s vitals. Her data was relatively stable compared to before. Now they just had to see if she would wake up in forty-eight hours.
Micah glanced coldly at Hamish. At this moment, they were both worried about Elisa, so although they met glances, there was no verbal abuse or physical fighting like before.
Hamish had not slept for a full 40 hours. His eyes were dry and bloodshot from fatigue and drowsiness, which was the body’s natural instinct. But Hamish didn’t dare sleep, afraid that if he closed his eyes, Elisa would wake up feeling scared and thirsty.
Hamish gently touched the wound on Elisa’s forehead, his fingertips trembling slightly. The current Elisa was like a fragile glass doll, as if she would shatter with the slightest touch.
How long could someone with late-stage stomach cancer live?
Hamish didn’t dare look it up or ask, afraid of getting results that he couldn’t accept.
He could guess without thinking too hard. It was a terminal illness, destined to not die naturally of old age like normal people. The lives of late-stage patients were like dried leaves on autumn branches.
Elisa had been on IV fluids all day, two bags of nutritional fluids per day, four hours each bag, plus other medications. Adding it all up, just the IVs alone ran for twelve to thirteen hours.
The IV in Elisa’s hand was an indwelling needle, with a small hole and slow flow, so it wasn’t as painful. But even so, the back of her hand had swollen up, and her hand was ice cold.
Elisa had taken over Powell Group at only 18, still just a half-grown girl. She was tough in her actions, having to shoulder not only the company but also the two “family members” at home who sucked her blood and scolded her as trash.
Bearing so much at such a young age, it was easy to forget she wasn’t even 24 yet.
The nurse came in again to change Elisa’s dressings. Hamish couldn’t help asking, “Will she wake up?”
The nurse hung up the IV bag, glanced back, and inadvertently met his bloodshot eyes. In just two days, the man had changed dramatically, with red eyes, dark circles underneath, and stubbly beard, clearly having stayed up two nights without sleep.
The nurse looked away. She was somewhat puzzled by Hamish’s emotions. The video and photos of Elisa kneeling in front of reporters the other day had made it onto the hot search.
Probably no one in Bankshire didn’t know. She had seen a video shot by a passerby. Hamish was standing not far from Elisa at the time, his expression icy, with no intention of helping at all, just standing behind watching coldly as Elisa knelt, facing the reporter’s difficulties alone, and the abused victim’s family’s humiliation.
Reliable sources revealed that Elisa had kneeled for a full half hour in the downpour then.
Most people couldn’t endure kneeling for half an hour, let alone in heavy rain. And given Elisa’s physical condition, it was no wonder she had vomited blood ceaselessly that day, her stomach cancer flaring up. Now, hanging on by a thread, it was extremely lucky she wasn’t worse off.