One month later, I got an unexpected phone call.
It was Lane's mother.
"Isabella, can you come to the hospital?" Her voice sounded old and worn out. "Something terrible has happened to Lane."
I stayed silent for a long moment.
She kept saying, "He's been diagnosed with schizophrenia, and he's now in a psychiatric ward. The doctors say his condition is critical. He keeps calling your name nonstop. Please, go see him."
I was about to hang up, but her next words made me pause. "He tied himself to his bed. He said he wanted to feel what you felt back then. He hasn't eaten anything for three whole days. If this goes on, he won't survive."
After I ended the call, I sat in the art studio, lost in thought.
Benjamin walked over and stroked my hair softly. "Go if you need to. I'll go with you
