Petty shifted her gaze to Jackson sitting beside the bed, remaining completely silent.
Her hollow eyes had lost every trace of light.
"I went and got your favorite savory meat pie," Amy said, her voice impossibly gentle. "Just have one bite."
Petty's lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. Instead, tears slipped silently from the corners of her eyes, tracing down her pale cheeks.
Jackson's eyes were already bloodshot before she woke up, and now, watching her suffer, the tears spilled over. He clutched her hand tightly, his voice trembling as he coaxed her, "Don't cry, sweetheart. Just eat a little bit, okay?"
Finally, a ragged, broken whisper slipped past Petty's lips.
"I'm not hungry."
Hans felt a brutal lump form in his throat. He turned his head sharply away, unable to bear looking at her.
"Just one bite. Please?" Jackson begged, his voice cracking.
But Petty didn't respond. She just closed her eyes in utter exhaustion.
Hans's phone vibrated. The world-renowned psychiatrist he had flown in from abroad had just arrived in Cabinda. He immediately turned and walked out of the room, with Amy following close behind to help receive the doctor.
"Please, Miss Petty. Be good and try to eat something." Jackson's heartbroken pleas echoed softly in the quiet room.
But Petty seemed miles away, as if she couldn't hear a word.
Jackson stared at her gaunt, sunken face, his chest heaving with silent sobs as he bowed his head.
Suddenly, he felt a weak hand gently rest on the top of his head.
Jackson froze. He snapped his head up, a spark of desperate hope in his eyes. "Miss Petty..."
But her next words crashed over him like a bucket of freezing water.
"Don't worry about me, Jackson. I'll eat when I get hungry."
She hadn't eaten a single thing in twenty-four hours, and she had violently thrown up the few bites she managed to force down at lunch. How could she possibly not be hungry?
It wasn't that she wasn't hungry. It was that her body was actively rejecting life.
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