😵😨 My husband had been in a coma for an entire week, and I sat by his bedside crying, unable to stop the tears. Suddenly, a little six-year-old girl quietly whispered to me:
“I feel sorry for you, lady… Why do you always come here and cry? As soon as you leave — he throws a party.”
I came to see him every day. I sat by his bed, held his cold hand, and whispered:
— Please, wake up…
He had been motionless for a week. The doctors said he could hear. I talked for hours — asking for forgiveness, telling him how sorry I was.
It was right after our last argument that he had been taken to the hospital. I had shouted, accused him of cheating, told him I would file for divorce. An hour later, they called to say he’d had a stroke.
Every day, I came back. Sat by his side, held his cold hand, and whispered:
— Please, wake up…
The doctors said that even in a coma he might hear. I talked for hours — about us, about guilt, about pain. Sometimes it seemed like his fingers trembled slightly, and I believed he was there somewhere.
In the evening, as I was about to leave, a little girl — about six, with braids and serious eyes — called out to me:
— Lady, why are you always crying? He’s not sleeping.
I didn’t understand at first.
— What?
— Well, when you leave, he gets up. I saw it. He even laughed.
😱😲 It felt like an electric shock went through me…
Continuation in the first comment 👇👇👇
Lily softly told me the truth: “Aunt Alice, he’s not sleeping. He gets up and talks to another woman.” My heart clenched. I couldn’t believe it. Maybe it was just a child’s imagination?
The next day, I decided to find out. I arrived at the hospital early, found the corridor empty, and hid behind a curtain near the room. I breathed quietly, my heart pounding. Every nurse’s step echoed in my ears.
Suddenly, the door opened. A woman I didn’t know walked in. Mark got up from the bed, smiled, and spoke calmly with her. I froze. Everything Lily had said was true. He wasn’t in a coma, wasn’t asleep — he was pretending, while I suffered believing he was ill.
With trembling hands, I took out my phone and snapped several photos. Each one was proof of his lies, his manipulation, his betrayal. My heart ached, but inside me rose a cold, clear wave of strength.
Later, even more came to light: the doctor who had been treating Mark was his friend and accomplice. Together, they had created the illusion of a coma to keep me under control. In the end, the doctor was held accountable — just like Mark.
I left the room feeling relieved. I had seen the truth with my own eyes. From that moment on, my true freedom began.
