“You spent millions on doctors,” she said. “They treated her body. No one treated her will.”
Daniel laughed sharply. “I brought specialists from Europe. Neurologists, experimental treatments—things not even approved yet. Every one of them said the same thing. Permanent damage. No recovery.”
Rachel reduced the water flow and asked quietly, “When was the last full evaluation?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Six… maybe seven years ago.”
Rachel nodded slowly. “So no one ever checked again. You accepted the diagnosis from the beginning and closed the door.”
“I didn’t abandon her!” Daniel snapped. “She has the best chair, nurses, caregivers—comfort.”
“Yes,” Rachel said. “Comfort. No resistance. No challenge. No reason for her nerves to wake up.”
Before Daniel could reply, Eleanor spoke softly. “Daniel… let her finish.”
That frightened him more than anything.
Rachel knelt. “Mrs. Whitmore, when they bathe you, is the water warm?”
“Always,” Eleanor replied.
“And are they gentle with your legs?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the problem,” Rachel said, opening the tap again. “Warm water teaches the body to sleep. Cold demands attention.”
Without asking, she sprayed Eleanor’s legs through the fabric.
Eleanor stiffened, eyes shut tight.