Chapter 3
Lucien's face instantly turned ashen, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. He reached out to grab my arm, but I stepped back.
"Felicity, you don't mean that. You're just upset," his voice trembled slightly. "Let's go home and discuss this, okay?"
I felt my heart pounding violently, my temples throbbing. Dr. Harrison's words echoed in my mind: "Partner support is crucial for recovery." If even he couldn't understand my pain, then I truly had nowhere left to turn.
I stared into his eyes and finally made up my mind: "Lucien, my depression is getting worse."
The air in the corridor instantly froze.
He frowned at me, a flash of impatience crossing his eyes: "You're so capable, so driven at work. How could you possibly have depression? Sabrina has severe depression - she needs more understanding. Don't compete with her over this."
I felt as if someone had me by the throat, my heart felt like it was being doused in acid. "But I have depression too, Lucien. I've been taking medication."
"Are you copying her?" His tone carried obvious doubt, as if I were telling a clumsy lie.
I slowly turned to face the wall, not wanting him to see the despair in my eyes. Outside, an ambulance siren wailed, piercing and mocking my self-deception.
Lucien didn't press further, simply leaving with a curt "I have a meeting" before hurrying away.
I stood in the hospital corridor for a long time, watching patients and their families come and go. Everyone's face bore anxiety and exhaustion, but at least they still had someone to lean on.
Perhaps family could offer me one last bit of warmth.
At dusk, I sat in a taxi, watching London's lights retreat outside the window. When the driver asked where I was going, I gave him an address I'd almost forgotten—Greyridge Mining Town.
This was my first time going home in three years.
Even my engagement news had been shared with my mother over the phone. She'd fallen silent for a long time before finally saying: "Those people will look down on us. I won't come."
Looking back now, maybe she was right. I really was an outsider in that world, a perpetual outsider trying to prove herself.
But now, family was my last hope.
The dilapidated mining town looked especially desolate under the night sky. Narrow streets were lined with old row houses, paint peeling, windows plastered with outdated advertisements. I pushed open the rusty front gate, the hinges emitting a harsh screech.
Mother was chatting with a neighbor, her expression instantly changing when she saw me.
"Why are you here all of a sudden?" Her voice turned guarded. "Didn't you say you were getting married in London?"
She looked me up and down, her gaze searching for something wrong. Even though I wore a coat worth several thousand pounds, in her eyes it probably meant "things went wrong, coming back to be a burden."
"I just wanted to come home for a visit." I pushed open the half-closed door, my voice trembling slightly.
The neighbor lady curiously craned her neck to look, but was dismissed by my mother's sharp glance.
The living room was more run-down than I remembered. The sofa had several holes, exposing yellowed foam; wallpaper curled and peeled, revealing moldy walls underneath; the air was thick with cigarette smoke and damp mustiness.
The TV was playing a cheap reality show. Mother sat on the broken sofa, her attention entirely on the screen. She didn't get up to greet me, didn't even turn off the noisy television.
"Didn't you say everything was going well in London?" she asked without turning around, her tone heavy with suspicion.
Standing by the door, I realized I was unwanted here too. The girl who'd desperately wanted to escape this place three years ago now found herself truly homeless.
"Mom, I want to talk to you."
"Talk about what? If you've messed things up, don't expect me to clean up the mess." She finally turned around, her eyes as cold as winter wind.
I struggled to speak: "Mom, I'm really sick. I'm starting to have hallucinations... I have severe depression."
"Hallucinations?!" Mother jumped up suddenly, her voice sharp enough to pierce the night sky. "You're just overthinking! Families like ours don't have time for depression!"
She pointed at my nose: "That's a rich people's problem! Stop putting on those pretentious acts!"
"I was expecting you to achieve something in London! Don't come here playing sick!"
Her words were like knives, precisely striking my most vulnerable spots. I wanted to explain, to show her my diagnosis, but her eyes held only anger and disappointment.
In her eyes, I was never her daughter, just an investment. An investment that now seemed to be going bust.
I whispered: "I... I don't want to get married anymore."
Mother's face instantly contorted, as if struck by lightning, erupting in fury: "Are you insane?! You finally hooked a rich man, and you want to ruin it all?"
"Did you make him angry? I knew it—your personality would cause problems sooner or later!"
"Do you think you're still young? Besides him, who else would want a woman from a background like yours?"
Her voice grew shriller: "And you dare to cry! I scrimp and save to support your education, just to watch you cry?"
"I sacrificed, went without food and clothing to give you an education, hoping you could change this family's fate! Now you tell me you won't marry? What were all my sacrifices for?"
Looking at mother's twisted, angry face, I finally understood a cruel truth: I was never her daughter, just her hope, her bet, her tool for changing destiny.
Now that the tool was broken, her reaction wasn't heartbreak, but rage.
I staggered away from that dilapidated house, walking through the mining town's desolate streets. The night was deep, streetlights dim yellow, distant sounds of bar chatter carrying on the wind.
The cold was bone-piercing, but not as cold as my heart.
Suddenly, the streetlight beams began to distort, swaying like tentacles. I stared at occasional passing cars, their headlight beams coalescing in my vision into blinding white beasts with gaping bloody maws.
The auditory hallucinations began.
"Pretending to be sick..." "Useless..." "Burden..." "Who wants you..."
These voices repeated endlessly in my mind, growing louder, like a chorus from hell. I covered my ears, but the voices poured out from within, inescapable.
Even my last sanctuary of family no longer existed. I had become completely orphaned by this world.
I felt dizzy, my vision blurring, unable to distinguish reality from hallucination. The street swayed beneath my feet, streetlights transformed into giant eyes, watching my every move.
Just as I was about to collapse, a man's figure appeared before me.
With my vision clouded by hallucinations, I couldn't make out his features clearly, but I heard a familiar voice, gentle yet firm: "Come on. You're coming with me."
