The house was wrapped in shadows. Every night, Alex collapsed onto the leather armchair in the study, a half-finished bottle of whiskey in one hand and the other covering his face, as if trying to block the weight of his thoughts. The living room, once filled with laughter and scattered toys, now looked like a mausoleum of memories. Photographs of his son, abandoned on the desk, told a story he could no longer rewrite.
He had stopped shaving; his eyes were sunken, his shirt wrinkled, and his hair disheveled. Pain was eating him alive. The echo of Helen's words tormented him:
—You killed him!
Natalie tried to approach him. She arrived dressed in a tight red suit, her hair tied in a sleek ponytail, and perfumed with the sweet fragrance that had once seduced him. She leaned over him with a forced smile.
—Alex, you have to move on. It wasn't your fault.
Alex lifted his gaze, his eyes lifeless, like extinguished embers.
—It was my fault, Natalie —his voice came out hoarse, nearly unrecognizable—. And you helped destroy everything.
Natalie took a step back, annoyed.
—You can't spend your life like this. You're a strong man!
Alex let out a bitter laugh, tilting his head back.
—Strong... —he murmured before suddenly standing up—. Get out, Natalie!
She didn't say another word. She turned on her heel and walked away. Her shadow disappeared into the dark hallway.
Suddenly, the insistent sound of the phone shattered the silence. He, lost in dark thoughts, took a moment to react.
—Mr. Acton? —The voice on the other end was firm but calm.
—Yes, this is he.
—We're calling from the General Hospital. Mrs. Helen just woke up.
Alex felt his stomach tighten. The phone almost slipped from his hand. He stood up abruptly, dropping the bottle in his hand.
—I'm on my way.
He left the mansion like a raging storm. As he drove at full speed, memories struck him mercilessly: Helen had remained unconscious since that fateful day at the hospital. She hadn't been able to attend her son's funeral, trapped in an abyss from which she had yet to wake.
Fifteen days ago...
—She collapsed —the doctor had said.
—Why won't she wake up?
—It's due to extreme exhaustion, both physical and emotional. Her body collapsed after weeks of stress, poor nutrition, and lack of rest. Her blood pressure dropped dangerously low. She's been through a very difficult time.
Alex felt a knot in his throat.
—Will she be alright?
—She's stable, but we don't know when she'll wake up.
The doctor stepped aside, and Alex approached the bed, his eyes full of guilt.
The hospital air, thick with the sharp smell of disinfectant, hit him as he entered. Alex walked quickly, barely hearing the echo of his footsteps on the cold floor. As he reached the door of the room, a doctor in a white coat stepped in front of him.
—Mr. Acton, I need to speak with you before you go in.
Alex nodded, though his mind was so clouded that it was hard to focus.
—What is it? —he asked, his voice hoarse, unwilling to beat around the bush.
The doctor sighed and crossed his arms, his serious face reflecting the weight of the words he was about to say.
—We're concerned about the lady's mental state —he said, choosing his words carefully, as if each one carried a burden—. Her body didn't just collapse from physical exhaustion, but from extreme emotional stress. She's been under unbearable tension for far too long.
A chill ran down Alex's back, as if those words were daggers piercing his chest.
—What exactly do you mean, doctor?
The doctor looked him in the eye, as if weighing the gravity of what he was about to reveal. Finally, he spoke.
—Since she was admitted, she's had episodes of agitation even while unconscious. Her blood pressure dropped dangerously low, and we've seen signs of severe anxiety. We believe she's suffering from deep emotional trauma. If she doesn't receive help, she could develop serious depression or, worse, self-destructive tendencies.
Alex felt as if the air had been knocked out of him. The closed door behind which Helen lay became an unbearable weight. His mind struggled to process what the doctor had just said, but one thought echoed endlessly in his head: he had been the one who pushed her to that state.
Helen was in the bed, her skin so pale it almost blended with the sheets, her lips dry and colorless. Her breathing was so soft, nearly imperceptible, that she seemed on the verge of vanishing. The image hit him like a punch to the gut.
He approached slowly, as if afraid that just being near her might break her even more. She was no longer the strong, vibrant woman he remembered. Now, she was just a shadow of who she once was.
He sat beside her, heart heavy, and without thinking, took her cold hand in his.
—Helen... —he whispered, without expecting a reply.
For the first time in months, he felt fear. Not fear of losing his pride or his reputation... but fear of her reaction.
As soon as Alex spoke, Helen's eyelids trembled and slowly opened. Her gaze, clouded by exhaustion and confusion, took a second to focus on him. But the moment she recognized him, her expression changed completely.
Fear and rage mixed in her glassy eyes. Suddenly, her breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling erratically. A trembling gasp escaped her lips before becoming a guttural scream.
—No! Get away from me! Get out! —her voice was a whirlwind of anger and desperation.
Before he could react, she yanked the IV from her arm in one swift motion, tearing her skin and sending a thin line of blood down her wrist. Alex stepped forward, trying to calm her.
—Helen, please... —he began, but couldn't finish the sentence.
She hit him in the chest with all her might, over and over, her fists weak but full of fury.
—You're a monster! You destroyed me! You killed everything I loved! —she screamed uncontrollably, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.
The sharp beeping of the monitors filled the room, breaking the air's tension. The medical staff rushed in, alarmed by the chaos. Two nurses held her firmly while a doctor prepared an injection.
—Let me go! I don't want to see him! Get him out of here! —She shouted, fighting fiercely, though her weakened body quickly yielded to the nurses' grip.
Alex, frozen at the threshold, watched her with a crushed heart. He had seen hatred in many forms throughout his life, but never something so direct, so visceral, aimed at him with such intensity.
—We need to sedate her —the doctor ordered one of the nurses as he struggled to restrain Helen.
With steady hands, the doctor injected the sedative into her arm. Gradually, Helen's resistance weakened. Her trembling body began to relax, her breathing slowed, and her trembling eyelids finally closed under the weight of exhaustion.
—I don't... want... to see him... —she murmured, barely audible, using her last ounce of energy before falling into a deep sleep.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Alex remained motionless, the lump in his throat almost suffocating him. He watched her, asleep, with traces of tears still fresh on her face.
A truth more painful than any punishment struck him like a physical blow:He had destroyed Helen in a way that might never be repaired.