Eames was filled with remorse, "Frostine, I was wrong. You can hit me or yell at me, but please, can I spend these final moments with you?"
He tried to step forward again, but Brent blocked him once more. "Can't you see how much she's suffering?"
At this point, I had become so emaciated that I was hardly recognizable, with countless needle marks covering the back of my hands.
"You don't deserve to call yourself a husband!"
With that, Eames swung a punch, but Brent dodged it and pinned him against the wall.
"Who are you to judge me?"
My heart jolted, and I began to cough violently, spitting blood into my palm.
"Frostine!"
"Are you alright?"
Both men rushed towards me at once.
Eames reached for my fingers first, but I flinched away.
My bloodstained hand clutched Brent's sleeve tightly, like a lifeline. "Make him leave! Get him out of here!"
Eames stood frozen in place.