She didn't know how many years she had been locked in this room.
One year.
Two years.
Or perhaps she had been locked in this empty room with only a bed since she went missing.
From hope to despair, from despair to collapse, she drew strength from the name of the man she deeply loved, engraving his name everywhere she could see.
Waiting, always waiting, one year, two years, three years! More than a thousand days and nights, all she had for company were these three words and her imprisoned freedom.
In the screen, the woman squatting on the ground slowly stood up. She turned around, her eyes hollow as she stared at the camera. Trenton Smith looked at the face printed on the screen, the once cold and beautiful woman, now thin and unrecognizable. Her waist-length hair now reached her calves, messy and scattered behind her. She looked like a ghost that had lost its soul.
Trenton Smith slowly closed his eyes.
There was a woman waiting for him in the mental hospital.
