Chapter 4 The Wrong Diagnosis

The ambulance arrived quickly. Sophia was taken to the hospital.

After the tests came back, the doctor said the baby was fine for now. She had only been badly shaken and needed plenty of rest.

In the hospital room, Sophia lay on the bed, her face pale and her eyes red. Yet when she spoke, she still sounded as considerate as ever.

"I don't blame her. Really. She's been under so much stress lately. She's emotionally unstable, and I can understand that."

I looked up at her sharply.

She avoided my eyes and continued speaking to my parents. "Mr. and Mrs. Rose, maybe you should take her to see a doctor. I'm really worried that if this keeps going, she might hurt herself or someone else."

My mother nodded almost immediately. "Exactly. She's been acting completely out of character lately."

My father's expression was grim, but he did not object.

I backed away step by step, my throat tightening. "There is nothing wrong with me."

He stood beside the hospital bed, his expression serious, as if he knew something was not right. But in the end, he did not say a word in my defense.

My father quickly made the arrangements.

…

That very night, I was forcibly admitted to a private psychiatric hospital.

All the way there, I kept desperately trying to explain myself. I struggled against their grip, tears and anger surging through me.

"I'm not sick! What right do you have to send me there? Zane, say something!"

I stared straight at him, but he sat there in silence for a long time before finally saying quietly, "Just calm down."

Just calm down.

Hearing those words, I felt as if something had been torn out of my chest.

As they took me away, I could still hear Sophia's weak voice coming from the hospital room.

Once I arrived at the facility, everything became even more like a nightmare.

Doctors and nurses crowded around me and held me down as they prepared to give me an injection. The needle pierced my skin, and my whole body trembled from the pain.

I looked up at him, and suddenly, I stopped fighting. The medication slowly took effect, and my vision began to blur.

I heard my mother quietly say beside me, "We'll tell her later that we did it for her own good, once she's feeling better."

My father murmured in agreement.

I could not make out anything after that.

All I remembered was seeing Zane standing beneath the hospital lights before I closed my eyes, his figure horribly blurred.

Five years together. Three years living under the same roof.

I had once truly thought I would marry him. I had imagined our wedding, our children, and all the years we would spend together.

But now, I regretted it.

…

After I was locked away in that private hospital, I spent the first day trying to explain myself.

I was still explaining myself on the second day. By the third, I knew it was useless.

When the doctor asked why I refused treatment, I said I was not sick. When the nurse brought me medication, I said my family had forced me into the hospital.

They nodded and wrote it down in their notes.

"The patient remains emotionally unstable and continues to deny her condition."

When I refused to take my medication, the nurses forced it down my throat. When I tried to escape, the orderlies dragged me back.

The worst part was the electroconvulsive therapy.

The first time they wheeled me in, I had no idea what it was. It was not until I saw the equipment that I started trembling.

I backed away, crying that I did not want it. Two orderlies restrained me while a nurse strapped my hands down.

I fought with everything I had. I screamed until my throat hurt.

Then the door opened, and Zane walked in.

I clung to him like he was the last lifeline I had. "Zane, I'm not sick. Take me home."

The next second, Zane reached out and restrained me. "Remi, stop making a scene."

In that instant, I stopped crying altogether.

When the needle went in and the current ran through me, my whole body seized up. I screamed until my voice broke.

When it was over, I was so sick I could not even stand, but they said I was still not stable enough.

Zane signed in the space for family members.

Over time, I grew quieter and quieter. The more medication I took, the duller my mind became.

Sometimes, an entire day would pass, and I could no longer tell whether it was morning or night.

Someone would ask how old I was, and I would think for a long time without being able to answer.

When they asked my name, I had to think for a long time too.

…

One day, a nurse slipped a piece of candy into my hand. "You were such a good girl today. Here's a reward."

I lowered my eyes to the candy and did not move for a long time.

I started forgetting who people were.

When my mother came to visit, she would stand beside my bed crying, and all I could think was that she was noisy.

My father came less often. Every time he stood in the doorway for a long while, I had no idea who he was.

When Zane came again, I was even more afraid.

I could not remember who he was, yet whenever I saw him, my arms would start hurting before anything else, and my whole body would instinctively recoil.

One day, a nurse helped me outside to get some fresh air. Zane stood in front of a bench, calling my name in a hoarse voice.

I hugged my stuffed animal tightly and whispered to the nurse, "Who is that man?"

At that moment, he looked completely hollowed out. But I no longer knew who he was.

And then, the hospital called. They said there had been a mistake with the premarital medical report.

It belonged to another woman with the same name. My own results had been completely normal.

Zane was standing in the hospital hallway when he received the call. His phone slipped straight from his hand and hit the floor. His face went deathly pale.