You woke up from a coma.

At first, everything felt unreal—like you were still trapped in a dream that refused to end. The ceiling above you was blindingly white, humming with fluorescent light, and the air smelled faintly of antiseptic. You blinked a few times, your throat dry, trying to remember where you were. The steady beeping of a heart monitor anchored you to the present.

A nurse gasped softly when she noticed your eyes flutter open. “Oh my God—she’s awake,” she whispered, rushing to your side. You tried to speak, but only a weak croak came out. She smiled gently, her eyes warm. “Don’t strain yourself. You’ve been asleep for a while.”

How long was a while?

You wanted to ask, but your body didn’t quite listen to you yet. Everything felt heavy—your arms, your chest, even your thoughts. You turned your head slightly, wincing at the dull pain that throbbed at the base of your neck.

“Where’s…” You struggled to form the word, your voice almost gone. “My husband?”

The nurse’s smile faltered, just for a second. It was small—barely noticeable—but you caught it. That flicker of hesitation in her eyes, the kind people get when they don’t know how to tell you something painful. She busied herself checking your vitals instead. “Let’s focus on getting you stable first,” she said quickly.

You didn’t press further. Not yet.

When the doctor arrived, his tone was calm but cautious. He explained what had happened—that you’d been in a car accident two years ago. Two years. You stared at him in disbelief, the words not making sense in your head. You had gone out to buy groceries. You remembered rain, headlights, the screech of tires—and then nothing.

Two years. You had been gone for two whole years.

The next few days passed in slow motion. Physical therapy. Blood tests. Countless visitors from the medical staff. But no sign of your husband. No familiar footsteps down the hall. No hand reaching for yours the way he used to.

When you finally had enough strength to sit up, you asked again. “Can you call my husband? Tell him I’m awake.”

The nurse hesitated, glancing at the door before answering. “He… already knows.”

You frowned. “Then why isn’t he here?”

She looked away. “He said he’d come soon.”

But soon didn’t come.

Two more days passed before the door finally opened. You turned your head eagerly, heart racing with hope—and froze. He stood there, the same man you loved, but something was different. He looked older, thinner, tired. The lines on his face were deeper, and his eyes carried the weight of two years you had missed.

And then you saw her.

A woman stood beside him, her hand resting gently on his arm. She was beautiful in a quiet, effortless way. Her fingers intertwined with his like they belonged there. When she noticed your gaze, she took a small step back, guilt flickering across her face.

Your breath caught in your throat. “Who… who is she?”

He didn’t answer right away. He walked closer, eyes filled with something between relief and regret. “You’re awake,” he said softly, almost like a prayer. “I didn’t think I’d ever hear your voice again.”

You wanted to cry, to smile, to yell—anything—but the confusion drowned everything else. “You didn’t answer me,” you whispered. “Who is she?”

He looked at the woman, then back at you. His expression broke. “Her name’s Elise,” he said quietly. “She’s my fiancée.”

The words hit harder than any crash could.

You stared at him, unable to process. “Fiancée?” Your voice trembled. “But I’m your wife.”

Tears welled in his eyes. “You were,” he said softly. “But after a year… after they told me you might never wake up, I tried to move on. I didn’t know how to live without you.”

You turned your gaze toward the window, watching the rain blur the outside world. Everything you once knew had changed while you were asleep. The seasons had passed, your house might have been sold, and the man who once promised to love you forever had built a new life—with someone else.

He reached for your hand, but you pulled away. “Don’t,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “You made your choice.”