Chapter 55
Collins
I hated court.
I hated the sterile air, the echo of footsteps, the way everything meaningful was reduced to procedure and paperwork. I hated what it represented—how love could be paused, questioned, and dissected by people who had never felt it.
And yet…it was the place I found myself looking forward to the most. Because it’s the only place I could get a glimpse of her.
Another day of restraint. Another reminder that seeing her didn’t mean having her.
I adjusted my burgundy tie in the mirror—hers. The one she had bought me after I sent her the headband. A small, silent exchange, and yet it felt like a tether to her. I wondered if she’d wear it today. I smiled.
As I entered the courtroom, my eyes searched for her instinctively—but instead, I saw him.
Michael.
He stood near the aisle, infuriatingly composed, a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Bright. Careless. Wrong.
Something in my chest shifted.
Before I could stop myself, I crossed the room, grabbed the flowers straight from his grip, and walked to the nearest bin. I didn’t hesitate. I threw them away with force, the sound sharp and final.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snapped.
“Stop giving her those damn flowers,” I shot back.
He laughed, low and mocking. “Oh? Cocky Dr. Collins,” he sneered. “You have no right to be jealous. She’s not yours. Get that into your skull.”
Jealous?
I stepped closer, my voice dropping, controlled now—dangerously calm.
“Maybe if you’d ever paid attention to her, you’d know she’s allergic.”
His smile faltered, just for a fraction of a second.
“And just so we’re clear,” I added softly, “she is mine. Whether you like it or not.”
His jaw clenched, fists curling, but I was already walking away.
I took my seat beside Miss. Simmons my pulse still racing.
“Good morning,” she murmured.
Then the doors opened again.
Her father wheeled her into the room.
Anna. Wearing the burgundy headband I had given her.
My heart forgot how to behave. The noise around me dulled, my focus narrowing until there was only her—the curve of her face, the quiet strength in her posture, the way she held herself now, fragile and unbreakable all at once.
I couldn’t stop looking.
Miss. Simmons nudged me. “Both of you will be taking the stand today,” she said quietly. “Are you ready?”
I nodded, though I wasn’t sure anyone could ever be ready for this.
Across the room, Michael met my gaze. That smug expression sat on his face again—as if the outcome was already decided. As if he’d already won.
I looked back at Anna instead.
And in that moment, court or no court, silence or no silence, I knew one thing with absolute certainty:
I wasn’t just here to win. I was here for her.
“All rise,” the court officer announced.
The room stood as one. My pulse thudded in my ears.
“Miss. Mathews,” the judge said once we were seated again, “do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”
Anna lifted her hand.
“I swear.”
Michael’s attorney rose, smoothing his jacket as he approached. His voice was calm—too calm.
“Miss. Mathews,” he began, “how long have you known Michael Miller?”
“Since high school,” Anna replied.
“And you are twenty-nine years old,” he continued. “So that would mean…over ten years?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “That’s quite a long relationship for it to end so abruptly.”
“Objection,” Miss. Simmons said sharply.
“I’m establishing context, Your Honour,” Michael’s lawyer replied smoothly.
The judge gave a brief nod. “Proceed.”
Anna inhaled, steadying herself.
“We dated in high school,” she said. “But we also broke up during high school. We reconnected about 2 years ago.”
“The accident occurred on your wedding day,” the lawyer said. “Seven months ago. You remained unconscious for four months and awake for three. During that time—did Dr. Collins behave in any way inappropriately toward you?”
“No,” Anna said immediately. “Never. He was always professional.”
“Did you develop romantic feelings for Dr. Collins while he was your doctor?”
A pause. No hesitation—truth gathering courage.
“When I woke up,” she said, “he reassigned my care to another physician.”
“Did he explain why?”
“No,” she admitted softly. “But I was devastated.”
A murmur rippled through the courtroom.
The lawyer leaned in. “How is it possible to develop feelings for a doctor in such a short period of time? Could what you’re feeling be gratitude? Guilt? Perhaps confusion because he saved your life? Did Dr. Collins pressure you in any way?”
“No,” Anna said, her voice breaking. “He didn’t.”
She swallowed.
“We met before my wedding,” she continued. “And I couldn’t look away from him. I was attracted to him immediately. But I was getting married. The guilt was…heavy.”
Michael’s lawyer raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Where exactly did you meet?”
“At a bar where I had my bachelorette party.”
A beat. Then…
“I only realized the man I’d been infatuated with was my doctor after I woke up.”
The courtroom stilled.
“So you’re saying,” he pressed, “that you woke up and instantly fell in love with him?”
“No,” Anna said quietly.
She lifted her chin.
“I fell in love with him while I was in a coma.”
A ripple of disbelief. The lawyer scoffed.
“And how would that be possible?”
“Because I could hear,” she said. “I could feel. I knew when he was in the room. I knew when he was caring for me. I heard my surroundings.”
I felt the knot in my throat.
“I heard Michael decide to pull the plug,” she went on. “I heard about the divorce. I heard about him being with my friend. I heard all of it.”
Michael’s face drained of colour.
“I let go of Michael long before I understood what I felt for Dr. Collins,” Anna said. “The only thing Dr. Collins ever did wrong…was saving me when everyone else gave up.”
She turned slightly then—not enough to break the rules—but enough that I felt it.
“I kissed him first,” she continued. “He stopped himself. I told him I loved him first. When I asked him to make love to me, he refused. Every time.”
The courtroom was silent now.
“Not once,” Anna said, tears spilling freely, “did he cross a line. Not once did he take advantage. And yet…I have never known real love until him.”
Michael’s lawyer said nothing.
Michael himself stared at the floor, his jaw slack, victory dissolving from his expression.
And in that silence—
“Thank you, Miss. Mathews,” Michael’s attorney said stiffly. “No further questions.
A pause.
“Dr. Collins may take the stand.”
I rose slowly, every movement measured, every breath controlled. I took the oath and sat.
“Dr. Collins,” the attorney began, “is it true that you met Miss. Mathews before she became your patient?”
“Yes,” I said evenly. “We made brief eye contact at a bar during her bachelorette party.”
“So you knew her socially before assuming responsibility for her medical care?”
“There was an exchange of names, yes. But no interaction beyond that moment.”
“But there was attraction,” he pressed.
“Yes,” I admitted. “It was immediate. And irrelevant. I knew she was engaged. I did not pursue her.”
The lawyer stepped closer. “Isn’t it true that when she later became your patient, you used your position to your advantage?”
“No.”
He smiled thinly. “Let’s talk about the prognosis. According to Miss. Mathews’ medical records, she had a sixty–forty chance of regaining consciousness.”
“Yes.”
“But according to the applicant, Michael Miller, you told him the odds were forty–sixty. Less likely to wake.”
“I did not misrepresent anything,” I said calmly.
“I stated a probabilistic outcome within accepted medical uncertainty. Mr Miller chose to interpret it pessimistically. That decision was his.”
“Why didn’t you correct him?” the lawyer asked sharply. “Why didn’t you clarify when he misunderstood?”
“Because my responsibility is to provide accurate medical information—not to steer a decision,” I said.
“When a legal guardian is faced with choices of care, my role is to ensure they understand the risks and possibilities, not to influence them toward hope or toward withdrawal. Crossing that line compromises medical neutrality.”
Silence fell. That was the truth.
Not all of it.
The rest stayed locked inside me, where the court could not reach.
Because the truth was—I didn’t rectify him because I couldn’t give him hope, I wasn’t prepared to lose.
Hope would have kept him there.
And part of me needed him to walk away.
I told myself it wasn’t manipulation.
I didn’t lie.
I answered exactly what I was asked.
But I knew what he thought.
I knew he clung to the worst possibility because it gave him permission to leave.
And I didn’t stop him. Not because I was careless. But because I wanted him gone.
I told myself it was mercy.
That she deserved peace, not a man already rehearsing his exit.
That if he loved her, he would stay.
And if he didn’t…then I wouldn’t stop him from proving it.
I was still her doctor then.
I kept her alive. I did everything by the book.
But somewhere between the monitors and the waiting room, I became something else.
A man who wanted her future to be empty of him.
And full of me.
“Thank you, Dr. Collins,” the attorney said. “No further questions.”
I exhaled quietly; my hands still folded in my lap.
“Wait!”
Michael’s voice cut through the room, sharp and sudden. Every head turned toward him. I watched his face as something frantic flickered behind his eyes—the look of a man scrambling for ground that was already slipping away.
“That’s not it,” he blurted out. “He’s not innocent. Dr. Collins is only after her money.”
A ripple moved through the courtroom.
The judge raised a hand. “Mr. Miller, you will speak through counsel.”
Michael’s attorney hesitated, then slowly stood. One eyebrow lifted.
“What money?” he asked, clearly unprepared for this detour.
Michael leaned forward, emboldened by the attention. “Her mother left her a substantial inheritance. A trust. Anna can only access it once she’s married.”
The words landed with a dull thud.
The attorney turned to me. “Dr. Collins—are you aware of this inheritance?”
I didn’t hesitate.
“I’m a physician,” I said evenly. “I do not have access to, nor interest in, my patient’s financial circumstances. If I were aware of Anna’s inheritance, it would only be because she personally disclosed it to me.”
I paused, then added quietly, “She did not.”
The judge studied me for a long moment, then nodded once.
The three attorneys were called forward. They gathered near the bench—low voices, hushed urgency. I couldn’t hear the words, but I could read the body language: surprise, recalibration, control being wrestled back from chaos.
Anna’s lawyer stood tall.
Mine remained calm.
Michael looked…rattled.
After a few minutes, they returned to their seats.
The judge cleared his throat.
“In light of this new allegation,” he said, voice firm, “the court will require additional time to review the matter. A further hearing will be scheduled.”
Tension settled in my chest.
“Until then,” the judge continued, “this court is adjourned.”
The gavel struck.
As the room stirred back to life, I didn’t look at Michael.
I looked at Anna.
And for the first time since this nightmare began, I knew
this wasn’t a setback.
It was his last card.