When I opened my eyes again, I was acutely aware that my left arm was immobile.
My entire body was wrapped in bandages, a stark testament to the horrific abuse I had endured.
But that wasn't what mattered—what mattered was that I couldn't control my left arm anymore.
The realization hit me like a bucket of ice water, chilling me to the core, from the inside out.
Edward, seeing me awake, joyfully called out my name: "Honey? You're awake! How do you feel?"
I looked at him, my voice as cold as ice. "What happened to my arm?"
Edward paused, his expression shifting uncomfortably as he looked away, towards the vase beside me. "This flower has been here for a while; let me get you a new one. Are you hungry..."
"Enough!" I shouted, my voice still hoarse and far from fully recovered.
"Tell me, what happened to my arm?"
He placed the vase back and gently held my hand. "Don't worry. This is only temporary. I will find the best doctors and medical resources for you. You will get better, I promise. Please don't be sad, okay?"
How could I not be sad?
That was a part of me!
I stared at Edward, my tears already dried up, leaving only endless desolation and despair in my heart.
"Why? When it would have been easier to kill the kidnapper near Grace, and given the distance between us, why not kill him through the middle? Why did it have to go through my arm!"
Edward was silent for a few seconds, his voice tinged with guilt. "Shooting through the middle was risky, I was thinking of playing it safe..."
"Grace's safety?"
I looked at him in disbelief.
He couldn't meet my gaze, replying softly, "Grace isn't well, she can't withstand any harm..."
Just to avoid hurting Grace, he chose to sacrifice me directly?
For the first time, I felt that this man, with whom I had shared a bed for five years, was such a stranger.
My heart sank.
I leaned against the bed, drained of all strength.
Suddenly, I thought of the kidnapper. "What about the man who kidnapped us? He was shot in the right chest; he shouldn't have died instantly, right?"
I was already used to my husband's indifference, and I had lost all desire to question him.
I just wanted to find the kidnapper and ensure he received his due punishment.
To my surprise, Edward also evaded this question.
"Is he dead?" I asked in confusion.
"No," he replied.
"Then where is he now? What has been done with him?"
Edward lowered his head, avoiding my gaze.
At that moment, there was a knock on my hospital room door.
When the door opened, four or five people entered, looking like a family.
They rushed over as soon as they entered, kneeling by my bedside.
"Thank you for being willing to sign the letter of forgiveness for us. Really, thank you."
Letter of forgiveness?
"What letter of forgiveness?" I asked the middle-aged woman holding a fruit basket.
She was taken aback and whispered, "The one you signed yesterday to agree to forgive the person who kidnapped you."
I felt a surge of anger burning my rationality.
Looking at Edward, who was silent, I understood everything.
"You signed the letter of forgiveness for me? Edward, by what right?!"
I grabbed the vase he had just put down and smashed it at him.
He stood there, motionless, allowing me to hit and smash.
The people around him were frightened and rushed to hold me back.
But I was like a madwoman, grabbing everything within reach with my only movable arm and throwing it at him.
Finally, when there was nothing left to throw, I sat on the bed, gasping for breath, my wounds torn open, blood seeping through the bandages, a terrifying red.
Edward held my hand as if cherishing some rare treasure.
"Don't be angry, Delia. Grace talked to the kidnapper; he did it out of desperation. After discussing, we decided to forgive him, but he will be imprisoned for a while to teach him a lesson."
What a joke.
My heart ached as if pricked by needles.
They played the good guys, but what about me?
Why was I not consulted?
I stared at him with bloodshot eyes.
"Edward, let's divorce."
I will definitely make you pay the price.