Chapter 1

I spent three years caring for my comatose boyfriend after a horrific car accident.

But the moment he finally opened his eyes, he grabbed my best friend's hand and called her "wife."

My best friend blushed, accepted the title, and turned to me with a pitying look. "Val, we shouldn't stress the patient right now."

I smiled, reached into my bag, and pulled out every single medical bill from the last three years.

"A total of $200,000. How would you like to pay?"

"Also, since I’ve been acting as a full-time nurse for 'your' husband for three years, please reimburse me according to standard market rates."

On that rainy night three years ago, Julian was driving me to the airport when a truck swerved into our lane.

He slammed on the steering wheel to take the hit. Because of his quick reflex, I only got minor scratches. But the impact shattered his skull.

I sat outside the ICU for seven agonizing hours, signing three consecutive critical condition notices.

The doctor told me he might remain in a permanent vegetative state.

I was only twenty-three then. I had graduated a year prior and was working as a copywriter at an ad agency, making a meager salary.

Julian was my first love. We had been together since college, our parents had already met, and we were planning our spring wedding.

But after the crash, I canceled my flights, quit my job, and rented a tiny, cheap apartment right next to the hospital.

Julian’s mother, Martha, cried her eyes out at first. She held my hand tightly and sobbed, "Valerie, I’m trusting you with Julian. I know how much you love him. The moment he wakes up, we’ll get you two married."

She was genuinely devastated back then, and genuinely grateful to me.

But that gratitude started to rot by the third month.

"Valerie, my back is acting up again. Can you pull the night shift at the hospital?"

"Valerie, private nurses are just too expensive. Since you don't have a job anyway, why don't you just care for him yourself?"

"Valerie, Julian's physical therapy bills are due... How much savings do you have left?"

I had about $15,000 in savings, which vanished in less than six months.

To survive, I started freelancing. I wrote ad copy and marketing proposals, working on a shaky folding table right next to Julian’s hospital bed in the dead of night.

During the day, I bathed him, turned him over to prevent bedsores, massaged his stiff muscles, and read him the news. At night, I pulled all-nighters to meet deadlines.

My best friend, Chloe, only visited a handful of times. Every time, she showed up in full makeup, sat for ten minutes, took a selfie, and posted it on Instagram with the caption: *“Visiting my dear friend. My heart is breaking.”*

I watched her post rack up hundreds of likes while I quietly knelt by the bed, clipping Julian’s toenails.

In the first year, the doctor said there were signs of brain activity. I was so excited I couldn’t sleep all night.

In the second year, Julian’s fingers twitched. I recorded over three hundred videos of his progress, crying and laughing at the camera.

In the third year—just last month—the doctor told me he was finally showing signs of waking up.

Over those three years, I spent $200,000.

I sold the small condo my parents had bought for my future. I borrowed money from every friend who would reply to my texts. I maxed out three credit cards.

Martha contributed a measly $30,000 before claiming she was completely out of money and needed to save the rest for her retirement.

Yesterday, Julian finally opened his eyes.

I held his hand, my tears splashing onto his knuckles. I was so choked up I couldn't utter a single word.

His eyes rolled slowly, his gaze bypassing me entirely to look at the space behind me.

Then, his cracked lips parted. His voice was raspy, but the word he spoke was brutally clear:

"Wife..."

I froze.

There was only one person standing behind me.

Chloe.

I didn’t even know when she had walked in. She was holding a bouquet of fresh lilies. The expression on her face shifted from shock to pure ecstasy, and then to a triumphant, gentle smile I had never seen before.

"Julian..." She rushed to the bedside, squeezing his hand. "You're awake! Oh my god, you're finally awake!"

Julian’s fingers tightened around hers, holding onto her as if she were his lifeline. His eyes never left her face. I was treated like thin air.

I stood there frozen, my hands still hovering in the air in the shape of holding his hand.

Martha burst into the room. Seeing the scene, she paused for a second before quickly walking over—

And shoved me out of the way.

"Chloe! Julian is calling you!" Her face lit up with joy. "Oh, thank God! You two are finally reunited!"

*You two?*

I opened my mouth, but my throat felt like it had been sealed with concrete.

"Martha..." My voice shook. "I’ve been the one taking care of him for three years."

Martha finally looked at me. Her eyes flickered with guilt before she sighed, grabbing my hand with fake sympathy.

"Valerie, I know you’ve been good to Julian. But look, he just woke up. His memory is a mess, and the doctor said we can't stress him. Chloe is the girl he loved growing up. His subconscious remembers her. Doesn't that prove they are meant to be?"

I ripped my hand out of her grip.

"I took care of him for three years," I repeated, enunciating every single word. "I sold my condo. I went into massive debt. I quit my career. And now that he’s awake, you’re telling me to get lost?"

"How can you say that?!" Martha’s face darkened instantly. "Who's telling you to get lost? I’m saying we need to prioritize Julian’s health! Once his memory recovers, we’ll straighten this out. If you throw a tantrum now and cause him to relapse, can you take responsibility for that?"

Chloe turned around, her eyes red, looking like a helpless victim.

"Val, I’m so sorry... I don't know why this is happening either. But Julian just woke up, and we really can't stress him. Why don't... why don't you go home and get some rest for a few days? Let me handle things here."

She sounded so sincere, as if she had been the one sleeping on a hospital cot for three years.

I looked down at Julian.

He was staring at Chloe with absolute tenderness, gently tracing her palm with his thumb. I knew that look all too well. He used to look at me the exact same way.

Now, he didn't even spare me a glance.

Suddenly, I laughed.

"Fine," I said. "I'll leave first."

I turned and walked out of the room. Behind me, I heard Martha whispering, "See? Chloe is so much more sensible, unlike some people..."

I shut the door, leaned against the sterile hallway wall, and pulled a cigarette from my bag. I didn't smoke, but I kept them to stay awake during late-night shifts.

I lit it but didn't inhale. I just watched the smoke rise and fade.

Three years.

$200,000.

I pulled out my phone and opened my camera roll. The latest video was recorded just yesterday. In it, I whispered to a comatose Julian: *"The doctor says you might wake up soon. I bought your favorite blueberries. When you wake up, I'll feed them to you. Let's get married, Julian. I'm so tired. I want a home."*

In the video, I had dark circles under my eyes, but I was smiling.

I locked my phone and took a deep breath.

Did they really think I, Valerie, was a pushover?

Did they think they could just swipe three years of my youth and two hundred grand under the rug?

I crushed the cigarette, tossed it in the trash, and walked toward the elevator with long, confident strides.