What Happens In The Ending Of PTSD Radio 1 (Vol. 1-2)?

The end of the world was upon us, but there weren't enough spots for evacuation. The roars of the zombies echoed in my ears as my fiancé, Oliver, gritted his teeth and pulled me onto the rescue vehicle—securing the last available seat. I arrived safely at the survivor base. Lina, his first love, did not. The zombies tore her apart. Oliver still went through with our marriage, but I never expected that he had only done so to make me suffer. In his eyes, I was the one who had killed Lina. If she had to endure such agony, then I should, too. For five years, he hated me. My life was worse than that of a stray dog scavenging for food on the street. On the day my divorce was finalized, he kidnapped me, dragged me into the wilderness, and wrapped his fingers around my throat. Then, he threw us both into the swarm of the undead. When I opened my eyes again, I was somehow reborn on the day the apocalypse began. The rescue team was shouting impatiently, "One more! We have room for one more—hurry!" I turned to Oliver, watching his hesitation. Then, with a quiet smile, I took a step back and let someone else have the last seat.

I gave Julian Marchetti thirty years of my life after the war ended. I built his empire, raised his children, and held the family together behind the scenes. But when he died, his will didn’t even mention my name. Half his fortune went to our children. The other half went to Lydia Carter, the daughter of the man who’d saved his life in Normandy. The same Lydia who’d stolen my identity.The same Lydia who’d built her entire life on the ruins of mine. All he left me was a single note, scrawled in his familiar handwriting. I loved you. We had thirty good years. But I owe Lydia. This is the least I can do. I dropped dead of a heart attack right there in his study, clutching that pathetic piece of paper. When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn in 1945, when the war had just ended This time I will not swallow my anger and suffer in silence; I will fight back. And I will take back every single thing that is rightfully mine.

When war broke out in Irestan, my fiancé, Everett Jones, caused a scene at the airport and refused to let the evacuation flight take off. He was determined to wait for his precious first love, Annie Scott, who had taken advantage of the chaos to loot a cosmetics counter for luxury goods. By then, the insurgent forces were already closing in. The shriek of explosions grew louder, drawing nearer by the second. With an entire plane full of people in mortal danger, I had no choice. I knocked Everett unconscious and dragged him aboard. After we returned home, far from the battlefield, we lived a period of quiet, comfortable happiness. I truly believed he had finally put that woman behind him. I was wrong. On our wedding day, he tied me up, drove me away, and deliberately crashed the car, killing me. As my life slipped away, I heard his twisted laughter. "Daniela, you're the one who killed my Annie. Because of you, she was killed by an insurgent missile. "She was just a young girl who liked to look pretty. What was so wrong with that? "This is what you owe her. I'm going to make you suffer far more than she ever did." When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the boarding gate, at the exact moment he blocked the plane. This time, I chose to grant his wish and let him stay behind with his beloved first love, together, forever.

A serial killer targeted me. My sister-in-law was assaulted and murdered while trying to save me. Not only did I refuse to call the police, I pushed my father-in-law and mother-in-law down a flight of stairs when they came to help. I even helped the killer destroy the evidence. When my husband learned that his entire family got killed, he broke down in tears. He grabbed me by the collar and demanded, "Why? Why would you do this?" I deliberately waved photographs of his family's gruesome deaths in front of him and burst into laughter. "Why?" I sneered. "Because they deserved it." My parents begged me to cooperate so I wouldn't be sentenced to death. Instead, I publicly severed all ties with them. Meanwhile, the murderer who escaped justice struck again, claiming another victim. As public outrage reached its peak, I was selected for the Memory Extraction Program. Before the sentence was carried out, my husband asked me one final time, "The Memory Extraction System is still a prototype. You could die during the procedure. "Tell us the truth now, and there's still a chance to make things right." I slowly raised my head to look at him. "You're not getting a single word out of me." The crowd instantly erupted. People shouted that a worthless life like mine deserved to die. But when my memories were finally extracted, they were the ones crying and begging someone to save me.

On the day I get discharged from the psychiatric hospital, my wife, Lisseth Gabler, speaks up all of a sudden. "When your mom was struck and killed by Donny's car, I was the one who hired a lawyer to defend him." My dad—the most elite doctor in the city—is still driving as he adds coolly, "I was the one who personally forged your mental illness records." Throughout the three-year torture I've received in the psychiatric hospital, I keep recalling the tragic way my mom died when she was struck by Donny Kaufman's car all the time. Meanwhile, my own wife chooses to defend him, whereas my own father has me admitted into a psychiatric hospital. I do my best not to collapse from the sheer shock. In a quivering tone, I ask, "Why?" Dad averts his gaze. Lisseth is the one who answers my question nonchalantly. "It's simple. You have everything. It's pitiful enough for Donny to be labelled as the illegitimate son. Now, I'm giving you two choices. Either patch things up with Donny, or stay in the psychiatric hospital for the rest of your life."

After suffering from a miscarriage, I've gotten rid of all the habits that my military husband, Nathan Linwood, despises. No longer do I ask him about his whereabouts. He can spend the night elsewhere for all I care. When I get hurt in a rescue mission, the doctor tells me to inform my family about my condition. I merely shake my head and say, "I don't have any family." But Nathan still arrives at the scene half an hour later. The tall and broad-shouldered man looks at me, his voice extremely cold. "Why didn't you seek me out when you got hurt?" I lower my gaze. "It's just a minor injury. There's no need to trouble you at all, Commander Linwood." For some reason, my nonchalant tone annoys Nathan. He's about to open his mouth when a conversation between the guards floats into our ears. "Commander Linwood sure is concerned about Ms. Schuman. When she twisted her ankle during a performance, Commander Linwood had a helicopter rerouted to the venue immediately. He even carried her into and out of the helicopter, refusing to let her feet touch the ground at all." Nathan's expression shifts into one of nervousness immediately. He glances at me from the corner of his eye, seemingly waiting for me to demand answers from him or kick up a fuss like usual. But my eyelashes barely flutter at the conversation. All I do is close my eyes and rest. Ten days later, I won't have anything to do with everything that's going on here.