My Comatose Husband Talks to Me

Anna's POV

I woke to a harsh, cold light.

The surgical lamp overhead shone directly into my eyes, and the sharp smell of antiseptic filled my nostrils. Before I could figure out where I was, a voice spoke beside me.

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

Dr. Walter Simms.

My heart clenched. I knew that face. He was wearing a surgical cap and mask, leaving only his eyes visible. There was a faint, reassuring smile in them, the kind meant to calm a nervous patient.

My mind raced. For a split second, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Then I instinctively raised a hand to my left chest.

My left breast was still there.

The operating room seemed to fall silent. My breathing grew quick and ragged. I pinched the inside of my left arm, and a sharp sting spread beneath my fingertips.

This wasn't a dream. The pain was real, anchoring me to the operating table and to this exact moment.

I was back.

I had truly been given another chance.

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

I'd once believed Julian Vance was the man fate had chosen for me. We met through a blind date arranged by our parents at a quiet restaurant. He wore a tailored suit, and his gaze was gentle and attentive behind his gold-rimmed glasses. Throughout the entire meal, he made me feel like I was the only person in the world who mattered.

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 lived in a sexless marriage. Julian called it platonic love, claiming he was only trying to spare my feelings because of my "ruined" body.

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 had never had breast cancer. The pathology report was forged, and Dr. Simms had been bribed. Their goal was simple: to leave me physically disfigured, strip me of any social standing or influence I might have had, and keep me obedient in the marriage while quietly transferring my mother Helena's trust and the shares in my name into Julian's hands, 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 worked together, turning my marriage, my body, and my mother's estate into one elaborate scheme to rob me blind.

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.

Her presence meant this wasn't just a scheme she had agreed to. She needed to witness the surgery with her own eyes to feel secure.

The anesthesiologist already had a needle ready beside me. Across the room, the surgical instruments gleamed beneath the harsh white light.

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

I quickly ran through every possible bargaining chip. Money. That was what they wanted.

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. I haven't given Julian the combination yet. There are some... important documents inside.

Documents related to my assets and the transfers that need to be signed. I need to tell him about them in person before the surgery, 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.

I noticed Isabelle's eyes narrow slightly. It was a subtle reaction, but I knew exactly what it meant. She was tempted by what I'd just said, even though she didn't want to show it.

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.

Everything was still in my hands. In the hands of the stepsister she had spent so long trying to rob.

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 started moving toward the door.

"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 take on that familiar, helpless dependence he knew so well, as if I were genuinely frightened and still needed him to reassure me.

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.

Only for a split second. It was like a crack appearing in a perfect surface before quickly sealing itself shut.

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

"Anna, why are you out here?"

I noticed that fleeting change in his expression and filed it away in my mind, like a small but valuable piece of evidence.

He was panicking.

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.