My Comatose Husband Talks to Me

Anna's POV

The operating light was still on when I opened my eyes.

The surgical lamp shone straight into my eyes. The smell of antiseptic was so sharp I could almost taste it. Before I could work out where I was, someone spoke beside me.

"Miss Hartwell, we're about to begin the surgery."

Dr. Walter Simms.

I knew those eyes above the mask. The cap covered his hair, and I couldn't see his mouth, but I remembered the way his eyes creased when he smiled at a nervous patient.

For a second I couldn't believe where I was. I lifted my hand and felt the left side of my chest.

My left breast was still there.

The room went quiet, or maybe I'd stopped listening. I pinched the inside of my left arm until it stung. My breath was coming too fast.

I was back.

I had truly been given another chance.

In my previous life, I had died in the Hudson River.

I'd once thought Julian Vance was the man I'd been waiting for. Our parents set us up at a quiet restaurant. He showed up in a tailored suit and gold-rimmed glasses, and he listened so closely all through dinner that I forgot I'd only just met him.

After that, he pursued me relentlessly. Roses, dinners, tickets to art exhibitions—every gesture was carefully chosen to match my tastes. He made me believe I was someone he truly cherished.

Then, just before our wedding, I received a devastating diagnosis: breast cancer.

The pathology report lay on the table as Dr. Simms gently explained why I needed a mastectomy. Julian held my hand, his eyes red with emotion, and told me he didn't mind. He loved me for who I was, not for my body.

I believed him. I truly did.

He waited for me at the hospital on the day of my surgery. And when I was discharged, we went straight to the city clerk's office to apply for our marriage license.

I thought that was what true devotion looked like.

For the next three years, we never slept together. Julian called it platonic love. He said he wanted to spare me the embarrassment of letting him see what the surgery had done to me.

I spent those years walking on eggshells, treating every small act of tolerance as proof of his love. I felt indebted to him. I believed I had no right to complain.

Then I discovered the child.

Three years old, with Julian's eyes and brows, calling Isabelle "Mommy."

That afternoon, I finally understood the truth about those three years.

It had never been love.

Julian simply didn't want to touch me. He and Isabelle had been together behind my back all along, and she had already been pregnant before our wedding.

The entire mastectomy had been a sham.

I'd never had breast cancer. The pathology report was a fake, and someone had paid Dr. Simms to operate anyway. In the years that followed, I stopped going out and started letting Julian handle everything. He took control of the money in Helena's trust and the shares in my name one signature at a time.

Vivian had been the first link in the entire scheme.

She was my stepmother, the woman who had raised me for eighteen years. In front of everyone, she had doted on me as if I were her own daughter. She played the loving mother so convincingly that I never questioned the look in her eyes on the day she sent me on that blind date.

She was the one who had turned me into the girl I used to be—naive, unable to understand even a simple balance sheet, and easy to manipulate, deceive, and drain of everything I had.

Julian, Isabelle, and Vivian had all had a hand in it. They'd needed the surgery, the wedding, and three years of my thinking I owed Julian for staying.

By the time they had drained the estate, all I had left was a mutilated body and a divorce agreement.

On a November night in Manhattan, I walked to the Hudson River and jumped in.

The water was far colder than I had ever imagined.

And now I was back. Right here, on this very operating table.

Dr. Simms was still waiting for my answer, his eyes holding that same gentle, harmless expression above his mask.

I forced myself to relive every detail of my previous life, then slowly exhaled. I had to look like nothing more than an ordinary patient, too nervous to respond.

I couldn't let them know I remembered anything.

Everyone here had been arranged by Julian. I couldn't simply tell them I wasn't sick or that the pathology report was fake. No one would believe me. Worse, it might push them to act before I was ready.

I needed a reason to get out of that room. Just one.

I tried the simplest excuse.

"I... I need to use the bathroom."

A cool, controlled voice answered from beside me.

"Miss Hartwell, we'll insert a catheter once the surgery begins. You don't need to worry about that."

I turned my head.

The surgical assistant stood to my right. A blue mask covered the lower half of her face, leaving only her eyes visible.

I knew those eyes.

Even beneath the surgical cap and gloves, even with her voice lowered, I recognized her immediately. I had seen that face too many times in my memories to mistake it for anyone else's.

Isabelle.

She was standing right there, posing as a surgical assistant and personally taking part in the operation.

My palms began to sweat, and my heartbeat grew erratic. But I didn't move or say a word. I forced myself to swallow the fear rising in my throat.

Of course she'd wanted to be here. She could see for herself that the surgery went through.

The anesthesiologist had a syringe ready. I could see the surgical instruments laid out across the room.

If I lost consciousness, I'd be completely at their mercy.

What could I give them a reason to wait for?

Helena's trust. The shares in my name. The authorization documents I hadn't signed yet...

"Wait."

The word left my mouth, and my voice sounded steadier than I expected.

Dr. Simms and Isabelle both froze and turned toward me.

I steadied my breathing before speaking.

"I have a safe-deposit box. Julian doesn't know where I keep the key. There are transfer forms in it. I need to tell him where they are before you put me under, just in case..."

I paused, letting the unfinished thought hang between us.

"Just in case something goes wrong. He needs to know where to find them."

The operating room fell silent for several seconds.

Isabelle's eyes narrowed. She'd been ready to put me under a minute ago. Now she was waiting to hear what else was in the box.

I owned thirty percent of the company's shares. There was also Helena's trust and the entire portfolio Isabelle had coveted for so long.

And she had none of it.

I still owned every bit of it. It was the first thing I'd thought of that she wanted badly enough to let me out of that room.

No matter how much I'd been hurt, disfigured, or broken, as long as I hadn't signed those documents, none of it could become hers.

"Let me see Julian," I said. "Just once. I only need to discuss this with him."

Dr. Simms glanced at Isabelle before clearing his throat.

"I'll tell Mr. Vance to put on a sterile gown and come in—"

"No."

"I need to tell him in private. I'll go out to him. Please give us a minute."

"With so many people in here, it's not convenient. I'll go out and talk to him myself. Please postpone the surgery and have everything prepared again."

I let my voice shake. I knew how to sound like a woman waiting for Julian to tell her what to do.

That act had carried me through three years of marriage. Even now, it came naturally.

Isabelle didn't object right away.

I took that brief silence as my chance.

The air in the corridor was even colder than it had been in the operating room, cutting through the thin fabric of my surgical gown. I had to grip the doorframe to keep myself upright.

I'd gone twelve hours without food, and my blood sugar was so low that the edges of my vision had begun to turn white. Every step took all the strength I had.

Julian was standing in the corridor, wearing a tailored suit with polished cufflinks. His back was turned to me as he spoke quietly with one of his subordinates.

I watched the man nod, turn, and hurry away.

Then Julian turned around.

He saw the operating room door open and me standing there, clinging to the frame.

His expression changed.

I caught it before he put his smile back on. For a second he looked like a man whose plans had just changed.

Then he stepped toward me, the familiar gentle smile returning to his lips.

"Anna, why are you out here?"

I leaned against the doorframe and forced a weak, trusting smile.

"Jules, I'm scared..."

My voice trembled slightly.

"Julian, can I... can I wait one more day? I'm not ready yet."

I looked straight into his eyes, holding on to just one clear thought.

This time, I won't be fooled again.