Chapter 187: Failure
Time and facts had shown the surgery was a bust.
Daniel fell into that unlucky ten percent.
This meant Daniel would be stuck in a wheelchair for life, never seeing the sunlight or walking again.
My worst nightmare had come true.
Ronan and Helen were crushed, Hugh and Emma were heartbroken, and Brad and I were drowning in our own deep, unfathomable pain.
Was I destined to owe Daniel for the rest of my life?
No way, I couldn't just roll over and accept this fate.
I frantically called Louis; it was almost 9 PM, and it sounded like he was at a party or something.
He found a quiet spot and gently asked what was up. I told him about Daniel's situation and begged him to help contact Timothy.
Within five minutes, Louis called back, saying Timothy had gone home right after the surgery and would be working as a Doctor Without Borders for at least three months. During this time, if he didn't reach out, no one could find him.
Timothy was our last hope, and now that we couldn't find him, it was impossible to figure out why Daniel hadn't regained his sight. The docs at Regalia had done a thorough post-op check, confirming the blood clots were gone and his brain was fine, with no reason for him to be blind.
But Daniel still couldn't see; that was a cold, hard fact.
Without finding Timothy, Daniel's condition remained a mystery, and he could only continue living in darkness, needing help even to go to the bathroom.
Our hope was suddenly crushed, and everyone felt like they had fallen into hell.
This time it was even harder to bear because there was no hope left.
My guilt towards Daniel deepened.
Originally, he might have already accepted that he was crippled and blind, but I gave him hope, which ended up in disappointment again. And this time, the disappointment could hit him even harder, possibly making him give up completely.
If I could turn back time, I would never have made such a rash decision and would have followed Brad's plan.
I was drowning in regret every day, losing weight fast, my hair falling out in clumps, and the light in my eyes gone. Every day, besides taking care of Daniel, I buried myself in painting. I painted from dawn to dusk, from dusk to dawn. When I was tired, I would nap in the chair, and when I woke up, I would continue painting.
Brad felt bad for me and repeatedly took away my paintbrush, forcing me to rest.
Many times, I obediently lay down but couldn't sleep at all. Brad, anxious and worried, would hold me to sleep.
Hugh and Emma talked behind my back, saying I was pushing myself too hard and might make myself sick. They took turns talking to me, saying it was fate and that I shouldn't beat myself up over it; they didn't blame me at all. Daniel was like this, and Brad needed to be well. Brad's well-being depended on me. So they wanted me to pull myself together, even if it was for Brad.
I understood their feelings, but I couldn't let go of Daniel.
Daniel was like this, fine, I could take care of him for a lifetime. As long as I was alive and kicking, I could take care of him.
But what about Brad and me? That day, the reason I said I would be with Daniel was to stop him from jumping off the building. More importantly, I thought there would be a solution, that I could find a great doctor to cure him, and then I could still be with Brad.
Maybe I was a bit shameless, but I didn't regret it.
Now that Daniel's surgery was done, it was no different from before, just that he had suffered more.
And his mood was even more down in the dumps than before.
I had given him hope and then shattered it.
For Daniel, this outcome was brutal.
How could I tell him that I still wanted to be with Brad? How could I even bring it up!
I wasn't afraid of hardship or fatigue, and I had some money to support Daniel. I was just terrified of losing my connection with Brad, never being able to be with him again.
The pain was truly unbearable.
Brad understood me the best. Every night, he would hold me and tell me not to worry, that we hadn't hit a dead end yet, and he would find another way.
But I doubted that. Timothy was a world-renowned neurosurgeon, and if he couldn't solve the problem, where could we find hope?
Every sleepless night, I deeply regretted and hated myself.
I thought I could do it, I thought I was right, but it was my arrogance that made a mess of things.
I was really useless.
Daniel was discharged from the hospital, not saying a word all day. Only when I was there did he seem alive.
Seeing him lying motionless on the bed like a puppet, I felt like I was guilty of a great crime.
The project at school was entering a critical phase, and Brad was extremely busy during the day, bringing work home to do at night. He also had to take care of Daniel and drive me back to my apartment. He was running around like a chicken with its head cut off, and he looked really worn out.
We both knew what the trouble was, but we insisted on not saying a word, pretending that our previous agreement still stood, and that we still had a future.
I gave the painting to Larry, but he directly rejected it. He said my painting was too depressing and dark, not meeting the client's requirements. He told me I couldn't always stay cooped up in the house and needed to go out more, doing things like basking in the sunlight, appreciating the flowers in the garden, smelling the air, and watching the birds in the sky.
I followed Larry's advice, but aside from physical exhaustion, my heart remained as gloomy as ever. No matter how fragrant the flowers outside or how warm the sunlight, I couldn't feel it.
I thought I might be sick and needed to see a doctor. But Brad was already very tired, and I didn't want to add to his burden. Daniel still needed care, so I thought it would pass anyway.
One noon, I came over, and Brad was directing workers to install window guards. I asked him why, and he quietly told me that Daniel had started having suicidal thoughts.
The incident began when Brad was helping Daniel in the bathroom, and a call came in. When Brad hung up the call, Daniel, trying to maintain his balance, had one hand in the toilet.
The toilet had just been cleaned and was spotless, but for the emotionally sensitive Daniel, it was a significant blow. He washed his hands over and over, asking Brad for a steel wool pad and alcohol, muttering about how dirty he felt.
Brad was uneasy on his way to work and turned back halfway, only to find Daniel groping around the kitchen, with his hand bleeding from an unknown cause, and he didn't even care.
"What was he looking for in the kitchen?" I had a vague guess but didn't dare to say it out.
Brad lowered his head, irritably ruffling his hair. "I guess he was looking for a knife."
My body swayed, almost collapsing.
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