Chapter 670 Self-Torment
Finnegan was soaked in cold sweat, his eyes bloodshot and intense. The veins on his hands bulged as memories of that night at sea replayed in his mind. He finally remembered what happened and what he lost.
He yanked the IV needle from his hand, threw off the blanket, and tried to get out of bed.
"Ophelia, Ophelia."
His body, weak from being bedridden, couldn't handle the sudden movement. Blood rushed to his head, and he collapsed to the floor.
Celia heard the noise from the hallway and rushed in. "Finnegan!"
She had just gone to find a nurse. Seeing him on the floor, she quickly helped him up. "Finnegan, you're finally awake. You've been out for a month. We were so worried."
Celia was overjoyed, tears streaming down her face as she hugged him.
"Where's Ophelia? Mom, did you find Ophelia?" Finnegan asked, his voice desperate. He hadn't found her that night on the sea. The dark ocean and the typhoon had made it impossible.
Celia's voice broke as she mentioned Ophelia. "We haven't found her. The police have been searching for a month. Ophelia's dad even brought the Royal Team from France to search the open sea, but they couldn't find her. She might... she might already be..." dead.
Celia couldn't get the last word out, but Finnegan got the message loud and clear.
Her words hit him like a thousand arrows, each one piercing his heart.
It was like he couldn't feel the pain, yanking the arrows out and stabbing them back in.
His heart, made of flesh, bled profusely from the back-and-forth.
In that moment, Finnegan felt like his soul had been sucked out, leaving him a walking corpse.
He'd been out cold for a month, and Ophelia had vanished into the cold sea.
Why didn't he go with her?
Who saved him?
Why save him?
Ophelia left him behind. In this world, he might as well be dead.
Celia looked at Finnegan, feeling his pain but clueless on how to help.
That night, he curled up in his blanket, hugging himself tight, murmuring, "Ophelia," lost in his own world.
Celia watched, helpless.
The next day.
Susan and Jude brought Warmie, but even Warmie couldn't get a reaction from Finnegan.
He was like a wooden figure, shutting out everything.
He neither ate nor drank, surviving only on IV fluids.
Lynn heard about it and rushed to the hospital in the afternoon. Celia, desperate, said, "Lynn, please talk to Finnegan. If he keeps this up, he'll be ruined."
Finnegan lay on the bed, eyes shut tight. Even if he wasn't asleep, he kept them closed. Facing a world without Ophelia? No thanks. But he couldn't just check out—Warmie was still here.
He was stuck, tearing himself apart, trying to find some middle ground.
Lynn glanced at Finnegan, all curled up on the bed, and said to Celia, "I'll give it a shot."
Ophelia's accident was still a punch to the gut for Lynn. It felt like she was still around, but she was gone for good.
Lynn walked into the room, and Celia and Jude quietly left.
Warmie had gotten used to her parents being gone over the past month. She clung to Jude and the others but would sometimes say, "Mommy."
Warmie was getting better at talking, especially saying "Mommy," which was getting clearer.
Every time she said it, it broke Jude and the others' hearts.
Such a young kid without a mom—heartbreaking.
The door clicked shut, and Lynn sat by the bed. She looked at the much thinner Finnegan and said, "I know you're awake. Ophelia's gone, and it's tearing everyone apart. Warmie's already lost her mom. Do you want her to lose her dad too? Do you know who Ophelia cared about the most? No matter how hard it is, you have to hang in there, for Ophelia and Warmie."
Finnegan, still curled up in the blanket, didn't move.
Lynn got frustrated, yanked off the blanket, and raised her voice, "Finnegan, snap out of it!"
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