Three Years Later, He Came Back Begging novel Chapter 416

At the hospital.

Mrs. Fletcher had only stepped away to use the restroom, but when she returned, Hannah was gone. After a frantic search, she found out a nurse's aide had wheeled Hannah to the nurse's station.

When Mrs. Fletcher arrived, the aide was holding the landline receiver on speakerphone right in front of Hannah's face.

She didn't know who was on the other end, but Hannah hadn't spoken a single word. Tears simply streamed down her cheeks. Mrs. Fletcher knew immediately that she wasn't calling Jackson, nor was it Jasper Blair.

With a heavy sigh, Mrs. Fletcher stepped closer, just in time to hear a crisp, vibrant female voice ringing through the speaker.

In that instant, she knew exactly who Hannah had called.

Mrs. Fletcher quickly apologized to the phone, explaining it was a wrong number.

Hannah sat motionless in her wheelchair, staring down the long, eerily quiet hospital corridor as silent tears continued to fall.

Mrs. Fletcher shook her head, signaling the aide to wheel her back to her room. The aide whispered defensively, "Ma'am, I thought she wanted to call her family..."

Mrs. Fletcher nodded, understanding the girl's intentions.

But Hannah had no family left to call. The Lane family had no idea she had been released on medical parole, and obviously, no one was going to inform them. Now, Hannah couldn't even walk.

Stricken with such a vicious disease and refusing to cooperate with her treatment, her rapid physical deterioration was tragically inevitable.

Mrs. Fletcher glanced sideways at Hannah. Even on her exposed skin, the severe muscle atrophy was glaringly obvious—she was practically skin and bones. Yet, due to the heavy doses of steroids keeping the disease somewhat in check, her face and abdomen were unnaturally bloated.

The neurological nature of the illness rendered Hannah's face stiff and completely expressionless. She looked pale and emaciated. Even as she cried, her facial muscles couldn't manage the slightest twitch.

She looked bizarrely terrifying.

Recently, Jasper Blair's school had organized an educational trip, so Jackson had taken the boy to the UK. The grim task of watching over Hannah had naturally fallen to Mrs. Fletcher and her husband.

Sometimes, in the dead of night, looking at Hannah lying rigidly in bed with her frighteningly wide, unblinking eyes, Mrs. Fletcher would feel a cold chill run down her spine.

An electronic monitoring anklet was strapped to her leg, which was as thin as a brittle twig. Her sharp kneecaps jutted out, threatening to pierce the paper-thin skin.

Her thighs were covered in deep stretch marks from the atrophy, grooved into her flesh like the cracks of a dried riverbed.

Mrs. Fletcher couldn't bear to look any longer. Once the aide left, she gently grasped Hannah's thin, skeletal hand, her voice heavy with sorrow. "Child, we can't keep bothering other people. Let's just focus on getting you treated, alright?"

Hannah acted as if she hadn't heard a word, offering zero response.

Since leaving the prison, Hannah had practically gone mute. No matter how hard Jackson or Jasper Blair tried, she just sat there like a lifeless wooden doll.

Mrs. Fletcher couldn't tell if her heart broke more for the broken woman or for her own son and grandson.

Shaking her head, she tucked the blankets snugly around Hannah and stepped out, leaving her in peace.

The hospital room plunged into a suffocating silence. Hannah's vision blurred entirely as hot tears continuously slipped down her cheeks.