As the gloves came off, Hattie’s hands were far from intact – not a single finger remained unscathed. Some nails were missing, while others were red and peeling. Her hands were covered in wounds, with the right hand even missing a pinky finger, the wound uneven and ugly…
How could Hattie not hate Harry? He shattered her dreams, ruined her life, and robbed her of a future.
He had ground down everything about her.
Looking at her hands, Harry felt a tightness in his throat, instinctively tightening his grip on her hand.
During her two years in prison, even though Harry never visited her, he knew what had happened to her inside.
He knew she had lost a finger in prison. He had thought it was just a fracture, a bone that could be mended, but the entire finger was gone.
It took nine blows with a brick to break it, unlike a knife’s swift cut. Pinned down on the ground, Hattie watched as her finger turned from bone to minced flesh, flowing into the toilet.
Harry understood the significance of Hattie’s hands better than anyone.
Hattie had joined the Stewart family at the age of twelve, brimming with innocence and sporting pigtails on her doll-like face, following Harry’s lead.
When Harry turned to ask her what she wanted to do,
Hattie offered a bright smile, the light in her eyes dazzling: “Harry, I want to be a doctor in the future so that you and Wendy won’t fall ill anymore.”
She truly pursued this path, facing setbacks but never giving up, eventually becoming an outstanding doctor.
Hattie had saved many lives, but the only time she had considered taking a life was with Harry.
While enduring those 29 stab wounds, Harry thought back to the young Hattie.
The one who had vowed to keep him healthy once she became a doctor.
When did that bright-eyed Hattie turn into someone with eyes filled with blood?
Hattie’s emotions escalated, grabbing Harry’s collar with a hoarse voice: “I hate you, Harry. I hate you. I couldn’t escape from you, but I want to know what I did wrong. The Mason family wronged you back then, but what have I done?”
“I was only six years old back then, I knew nothing. My father died in prison, my mother jumped off a building, and now I’m alone. Half-human, half-ghost. Harry, do you find this appearance of mine now compared to before satisfactory?”
Hattie’s eyes turned red: “I’ve already repaid all you’re owed, Harry. I owe you nothing…”
Harry lowered his gaze to Hattie’s injured hands, suddenly reaching to cover them.
Her hands were icy cold, no patch of skin was smooth, feeling rugged to the touch.
“You don’t owe me anything, and I won’t let you go. Since before you were born, you’ve been mine. We made a promise as children. You called me Harry for over a decade. I raised you, and in life, you’re mine. In death, we’ll be buried together.”
Hattie stared, her pupils shrinking, a buzzing in her ears, a sharp pain in her heart, tears wrapped in her eyes but refusing to fall.
She told herself not to cry, enduring so much pain in prison without shedding a tear. How could she cry now over a scoundrel? Shedding too many tears would make her look cheap.
But why did she still feel a warmth on her face, lowering her head as a drop, two drops, three drops… of blood flowed from her mouth.
In that moment, as if all the blood had been drained from her body, Hattie’s face turned pale, lips bluish, her eyes emptied of hope, staring blankly ahead.
Just a moment ago, a living person was yelling at Harry, and the next second, there was no response, mouth agape, blood gushing out in torrents.
Harry’s heart felt as if it had been stung by something. Hattie, who had been grabbing his collar, now released her grip as if she had been a puppet with a cut string, falling backwards.
Harry quickly caught her: “Hattie!”
Harry’s heart was in turmoil, not even he knew how much fear resonated in his trembling voice.
Hattie squinted, with a dull, hazy light in the corners of her eyes, like the last glow of fireworks before darkness took over.
Hattie’s smile, even in such a state, showed signs of surrendering to death, of being listless. Harry couldn’t describe this feeling; he had pushed Hattie too far, changed her so much, and driven her to madness.
Hattie had managed to stay sane during her two years in prison.
Harry couldn’t describe his current emotions. He held Hattie close, yelling for the driver to hurry. His voice was so loud that the veins in his neck stood out.
Though the car was already speeding, Harry felt as though it moved too slowly, Hattie’s body temperature dropping gradually in his arms.
His temples throbbed incessantly; his brow furrowed all the way to the hospital, unsure of what he was truly afraid of.
At the hospital, Hattie was rushed into the emergency room.
Harry waited outside, signing a few hospital documents, waiting for almost an hour, until the doors finally opened and the doctor emerged.
“How is she? Why did she suddenly start vomiting blood?” Harry asked.
The doctor’s expression turned grim, instinctively reprimanding, “She was driven too far.”
To be driven to the brink of vomiting blood was not just a saying; extreme emotions could indeed trigger such a reaction.
“How is she now?”
“Alive, but her condition is dire.”
“Dire?” Hattie was a medical student, always taking care of her health. Harry had imagined what she might endure in prison for two years, but he didn’t expect the doctor to describe it as “dire.”
Seeing Harry’s disbelief, the doctor tossed the examination report in front of him, illustrating with facts, “Her organs are failing, severe anemia, malnourishment, she has various old and new injuries…” The doctor wanted Harry to grasp the severity, taking him to see Hattie in the ward.
Harry looked at Hattie lying on the bed, so peaceful. This was the first time Harry had seen her so weak, as if she would disappear before his eyes.
A strange, ominous feeling crept into Harry, growing stronger by the moment.
The doctor lifted the corner of the blanket, taking Hattie’s hand, “Her nerves in both hands are damaged, intricate tasks in the future will be impossible. With the weather getting colder, her hands will only hurt more.”
Harry knew she had a hand injury, but he never expected a doctor to describe it this severely.