Chapter 17
Anna
I couldn’t believe he was going through with it.
I wanted to scream. To protest. To tell him I could hear every word he was saying. That I was still here. Still his wife. But my mouth wouldn’t open. My hands wouldn’t move. My body remained locked in silence while my mind raged.
He listened to Veronica.
He was going to divorce me.
Worse, he was willing to pull the plug. To end my life because it became inconvenient. Because waiting felt like too much of a burden.
What happened to in sickness and in health?
Those vows had meant nothing to him if he could discard me so easily. If love only existed when I was whole, useful and standing.
I heard the break in my father’s voice and felt something inside me crack with it. The helplessness. The grief. The fear of losing me.
Then—thank God—Dr. Collins.
He stepped in when no one else would. Spoke when my own husband couldn’t. His presence settled the chaos inside me. The soft brush of his hand, the way he adjusted something near me, grounded me. Made me feel… safe.
Safer than my husband ever had.
After that, I didn’t hear Dr. Collins anymore. Just the quiet efficiency of a nurse moving around the room.
Then her voice returned.
Did she forget something?
“Do you mind giving me a private moment with my best friend?”
The nurse left. The door closed.
Best friend? Stealing husbands?
I couldn’t even call her a friend.
Her voice softened, sweet, almost tender. “Oh, Anna. I’m so sorry this happened to you. I really am.”
She paused, then sighed.
“But this is also my greatest relief.”
The words cut deeper than any blade.
“Relief that you’re no longer standing next to me, overshadowing every step I take.
Relief that you won’t steal my thunder anymore.
” Her voice sharpened, bitterness bleeding through.
“Do you have any idea how sick it made me to watch the two of you together? The wedding was the worst. Everyone looking at you.”
She laughed quietly. “But now… he finally sees me. And you’re out of the way.”
My mind screamed. My body stayed still.
“I hope you wake up,” she continued softly. “I truly do. But by the time you do… I hope you’re long forgotten.”
Her footsteps retreated. The door opened. Closed again.
And I was left alone—silent, trapped, alive only because one man had fought for me when my husband had already let me go.
I clung to that truth in the dark.
The nurses came back into my room long after.
Their voices were low at first, normal, routine. The soft shuffle of shoes. The quiet rustle of sheets. The steady beeping that had become the only proof I still existed.
Then something changed.
I felt it before I heard it.
A strange heaviness. Like my chest was folding in on itself. Like the air had turned thick and hard to pull in.
“Her heart rate just dropped,” one nurse said.
Another moved closer. “That’s not right, it was stable a minute ago.”
Panic tore through me. I tried to breathe harder. Tried to move. Tried to scream.
Nothing.
The beeping changed, faster, sharper, wrong.
“Miss. Mathews?” a nurse said urgently. “Stay with me, sweetheart.”
My heart stumbled. Slipped. Missed a beat.
“No, she’s crashing.”
Hands pressed against me. Machines were adjusted. Someone said my name again.
I wanted to answer.
I wanted to tell them it was because of her words—because something inside me broke too deeply to hold me together.
Then the sound stretched into one long, terrible tone.
Flat.
“Code blue, room 302!”
A button slammed. Alarms screamed. Footsteps rushed in from everywhere.
I felt myself drifting, falling backward into a dark, colder than anything I’d ever known.
So this is how it ends, I thought.
Not with love. Not with goodbye.
Just… fading.
Voices blurred. Shapes moved above me.
“Charging.”
Pressure on my chest. Then pain, sharp and electric, ripping through me.
My body jumped, but I kept slipping.
“Again!”
More pain. More shaking. I was so tired. Then…
A voice. Not loud. Not clinical. Desperate.
“Anna.”
Everything inside me froze.
““You can’t go; you hear me? You can’t. You’re stronger than this. You don’t get to disappear on me.”
That voice…
It wasn’t duty. It wasn’t routine. It was need.
“I’m here,” he said. “I’m right here. Don’t leave. Not like this.”
I hesitated in the dark.
“Come back to me,” he whispered. “You’re not done yet. Not with me.”
Something inside my chest tightened, not with pain, but with pull.
That voice had kept me alive before. I reached for it the only way I could. The world slammed back into me. Air burned into my lungs. Sound crashed into my ears. Pain, noise, weight, life.
The machines changed their song, fast, steady, alive. “I’ve got a rhythm!”
“She’s back, she’s back!”
Hands steadied me. Voices overlapped in relief. I stayed.
I didn’t know how. I only knew why.
I couldn’t open my eyes. Couldn’t speak. But I felt him. His hand on mine, shaking. His breath uneven. His presence louder than any machine. Around him, nurses whispered. “Why did she respond to him? That wasn’t a standard call-out. He said her name like…”
Like he needed me. I didn’t know what I was to him. But I knew this: when everyone else let me go…his voice called me back.
“Move her to the other room,” I heard Dr. Collins say firmly.
“To where, Doctor?” someone asked.
“The VIP suite, no 702.”
There was a brief pause. “The VIP?”
“Yes. And be careful.” His voice softened just slightly before his footsteps faded away.
Silence followed, thicker this time.
“Who’s paying for that suite?” a nurse whispered.
Another hesitated. “Maybe…Dr. Collins is.”
Wait—what?” the voice dropped lower. “Is Dr.Collins…?”
“I can’t say,” the first nurse replied. “But he’s very invested. He checks on her constantly. More than any other patient. Didn’t you see how he reacted just now? And how she responded to him?”
“I did,” the second nurse said quietly. “He’s here all the time. Night and day.”
“And he’s usually so…”
“Distant,” the other finished.
“Yes. But not with her.”
Something twisted inside my chest.
“I saw him putting lip balm on her the other day,” one of them added softly.
“You’re joking.”
“No. And he was so careful—like he was afraid to hurt her.”
“That’s actually… kind of sweet.”
“It really is. Maybe they know each other outside of this.”
They were talking about me.
The thought sent a strange warmth through me, gentle, confusing, steady. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t answer. But I felt every word settle somewhere deep.
Then my bed began to roll.
The familiar stillness was replaced by soft motion. Wheels hummed. Curtains whispered past. We stopped.
I heard them inhale.
“Wow…”
“This is usually only for really wealthy patients.”
“So why did Dr. Collins move her?”
“Doctor privileges,” one said quietly.
Or maybe… something else.
The doors opened. The air felt different, quieter, softer, calmer.
Even without seeing it, I knew.
I was somewhere new now.
Somewhere he chose for me.