Page 121 of Broken & Bound

“Then I’m taking that as permission.”

Because that was exactly what it was. If Isabella hadn’t wanted to see me, she would have stated it. Emphatically. Martina gave me a grateful smile. I stepped quietly inside.

The room was dim despite the afternoon sun. The curtains were half closed. Cards and flowers filled the room. Machines hummed in the background.

Isabella lay facing the window. She didn’t acknowledge me. I wasn’t even sure she’d noticed I’d entered. Her posture told me everything before she ever spoke.

Curled inward. Eyes fixed on the window. Arms wrapped tightly around herself. I’d seen Isabella retreat time and again. She was pulling the old shutter system down, locking herself inside the vault of her own mind.

It was a physical blow as her counselor. We were back at square one. And the trauma from this go round had sent her crawling back into the wreckage of her childhood. Maybe even further.

“The ward nurse says you haven’t eaten much. Noted it in your chart and everything. Said you threw a cup of tea at her,” I said.

My voice carried the low, rhythmic cadence I used in sessions. That was the right move because she answered.

“Not hungry, Marcel. And maybe if she had listened when I said I didn’t want it…” She let the words trail off.

I didn’t press further. I crossed to the chair beside the bed and lowered myself into it without making a sound. I kept a respectful angle rather than head-on. Reduce the threat perception—trauma protocol 101.

She huffed, completely aware of my tactic.

Silence settled between us. I let it. Silence wasn’t the enemy. Sometimes it was the safest place for a grieving person. Minutes passed. Five. Maybe ten. I watched her shoulders rise and fall beneath the hospital blanket. Each breath was shallow, like it hurt to breathe.

Eventually, she spoke. “So…they sent in the calvary.”

“Pretty much.”

“It won’t change anything.”

“No, Bellaruso, it won’t.” The answer came immediately. “But we have to start somewhere.”

She gave the smallest shake of her head. “I failed them.”

I knew her well enough to know she would feel that way. Trauma almost always searched for somewhere to place blame. And the safest target was usually yourself. I leaned forward, resting my forearms on my knees.

“Can I give you a hypothetical?”

She didn’t answer. I took her silence as permission.

“If you were me and a patient came to see you and told you the exact same story you’ve lived through would you blame her?”

I watched her wrestle with the question the way she’d once wrestled with every lie the Mask had planted inside her. She was looking inward. Searching for an answer she already knew.

“You wouldn’t, would you? You’d see the truth from the lie.”

Another tear slipped down her cheek.

“They were supposed to be safe with me. And they weren’t. That is the truth. Nothing else matters.”

She squeezed her eyes shut.

“I know he is in the waiting room—”

“He is. Just as he has been for the last few days.”

A visible flinch went through her entire body. Her shoulders hitched, a microscopic tremor that betrayed the absolute chaos screaming behind her eyes.

“Do me a favor. Tell him to go home.”