Micah had already seen it. At this point, there was no need to hide it from him any longer. Hattie reached out her hand, her right hand open with only four fingers remaining, the position where her pinky used to be now missing. The wound was still uneven after two years.
Micah tightly held her hands, carefully examining them. Apart from the missing pinky, her hands showed various burn marks, with dark red skin uneven and rough. Being a medical student himself, he understood the severity of these injuries and what it meant for Hattie not being able to wield a scalpel any longer.
No wonder she had said she couldn’t go to the hospital, couldn’t help him. Her hands were crippled now, and how could a patient turn into a doctor?
Micah almost couldn’t control his tears, “How did this happen… Your hand, how did it become like this…”
Hattie’s expression remained unchanged, as if numb from past pain. She didn’t like others staring at her hands.
These hands used to be her everything, her pride. Now they were like this, and she was used to wanting to hide them. Slowly, Hattie pulled her hand back, “In prison, someone used boiling water to scald my hand, then chiseled it with a brick.”
“Your pinky, if it had been found in time, could have been reattached…”
Seemingly recalling the scene of her pinky being smashed by a brick, Hattie’s breath caught, her eyes turning red, “It was flushed down the toilet that night. Even if it hadn’t been lost, the extent of my injuries couldn’t have been repaired.”
Looking at the uneven injuries on Hattie’s hand, Micah could imagine the scene. Bricks weren’t sharp like knives, they couldn’t make a clean cut. Sometimes, the force and the point of impact weren’t consistent.
Hattie’s pinky wasn’t severed with one clean cut, but pieced apart bit by bit with a brick. The pain of it… just the thought made him shudder, as a man, instinctively clutching his own pinky.
How did the real Hattie, who had experienced flesh and bone being shattered, endure that night?
Micah lowered his head, tears rolling down his cheeks. Facing the calm expression of Hattie, he didn’t know what to say.
How could Hattie be so calm? What had happened to her to make her say such things with such composure?
“Why would someone harm you, break your finger? Your hands were meant to hold a scalpel and save lives…”
Micah bit his lip hard to stop his voice from trembling, thinking back to the time when he first saw Hattie years ago. She had been confident, holding a scalpel, dedicated to the pursuit of medicine, her eyes shining with an undeniable light.
Her patients, young and old, trusted and liked her. The elderly called her “Hattie,” peers called her “Dr. Mason,” and the children called her “Sister Hattie.”
She had a friendly, doll-like face, especially sweet when she smiled. But could that smile be seen now?
Her doll-like face had been ravaged by time. At the age of 29, she looked like an elderly person in decline, with no trace of vitality left on her face.
“If I can’t use a scalpel, so be it. As long as people are still alive…” These words were meant to comfort Micah, but also to comfort herself. As long as people are alive, that’s all that matters.
Hattie lowered her gaze, a coldness seeping out. She could never forget that night when her hand was pressed in the toilet, bricks raining down on it, blood and flesh mangled, hot blood splashing on her face, her pinky dropping into the toilet bowl like a piece of rotting flesh.
Micah choked up, gently placing his hand on Hattie’s head, rubbing it. Hattie didn’t not want to go to the hospital, but she couldn’t be a doctor now.
A doctor’s duty was to save lives, but now she was sick. It wasn’t just external wounds; her heart was damaged, beyond repair.
“Tell me about everything that happened to you in prison,” Micah suggested.
“What’s there to say? It’s all in the past.” Besides, there was no point in talking about it. The pain was hers alone. No one could truly understand.
“Tomorrow, I’ll accompany you to the hospital for a check-up.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“Hattie.”
Hattie looked into Micah’s concerned eyes, hesitating to refuse his offer yet not knowing how to say it. After a moment of hesitation, she whispered, “Can I not go? I’m scared…”
Micah asked, “Scared of what?”
Her body was a mess now, she knew what was wrong with her; severe rheumatism, malnutrition, hypoglycemia, severe gastrointestinal issues…
She was afraid of going to the hospital for a check-up, afraid that the results would be worse than she imagined.
“Forget it. When you’re ready, we’ll go together. Let’s have dinner first.”
Micah noticed that Hattie couldn’t eat spicy food, so he served her some vegetables and fish, rinsed with clean water, deboned, and placed in her bowl.
After dinner, Micah cleaned the dishes, telling Hattie to rest. She sat alone on the couch, curled up, looking lonely from behind.
Micah brought her a cup of hot water, placing it on the coffee table. “Hattie, tell me, is Harry responsible for what happened to your hand?”