Page 140 of The Widower
“Everything’s going to be okay.”
I spoke with his doctor for almost an hour.
I needed answers—some kind of explanation. Even though I knew none of this was my fault, I couldn’t stop thinking that maybe it all could’ve been avoided if Colin hadn’t been so kind to me—helping me when I needed it most, protecting me even from a distance.
“Some patients go into shock, like Colin did,” the doctor explained. “He was severely tortured and needs time to recover. Physical therapy will be essential for him to walk normally again, since the repeated blows to his back affected his spine. But he’ll need determination—he has to want to get better.”
I listened carefully, but fear settled deep in my chest.
I knew Colin well enough to understand how stubborn he could be, and that only made my worry worse. Still, I made myself a promise: no matter how angry or distant he became, I’d stay by his side.
I’d do everything—anything—to make sure he followed every step of the treatment exactly as the doctors prescribed.
CHAPTER 32
“It takes something more for our lives to return to normal…”
ISABELLE CAMPBELL
Colin was finally home.
They’d brought him back in a wheelchair, and for the past week he’d barely spoken to anyone. Talking to him felt like having a one-sided conversation—he’d only answer with the bare minimum, never more than three words at a time.
He spent most of those days sleeping. I didn’t know exactly what kind of damage that torture had done to his mind, but I knew he needed someone to push him forward—and that someone had to be me.
“I need you to do the physical therapy exactly the way it’s supposed to be done.”
Silence. He didn’t even look at me.
Colin didn’t argue, didn’t fight back. His mind was somewhere else, detached from everything around him. He couldn’t move without the wheelchair, and his face was still slightly swollen from the beating.
“Colin, are you listening to me?”
He turned his eyes toward me for maybe three seconds—no words, no emotion—then stared off again, back into nothing.
Trying to talk to him, to motivate him to take therapy seriously, was exhausting. Knowing him as I did, I could already tell it wouldn’t be easy. Nothing about Colin ever was.
“I’ll make sure you do every exercise right,” I said softly.
I decided to give him some space for now—but even as I stepped away, my mind was already racing, planning how I’d stay close enough to guide him through every step of his recovery.
I tried to go about my daily routine in the mansion, but it got harder with every second I spent away from Colin.
The need to be near him was eating me alive. Even though he wanted—and probably needed—space, something inside me wouldn’t let me stay away. Every now and then, I’d find some excuse to check on him, even if he didn’t say a single word.
It was during one of those moments, on my way to his room, that I saw Hanna coming out, followed by Helen.
My daughter didn’t look happy—her little face said it all. I already had a feeling what might’ve happened.
“What is it?” I asked, crouching down so I could see her better. Her eyes were red, and her head hung low.
“Uncle Colin didn’t talk to me.He didn’t even look at me.”
I rested my hands on her tiny shoulders.
“Sweetheart, he’s been through a lot. Colin’s really hurt.”
That part—explaining things to Joshua and Hanna—was the hardest.
