“Will I die today?” That was the thought racing through my mind as I desperately pumped the brakes of my car. I was speeding down the highway, trying to get home to my wife, Elaine. She had called me in a panic, her voice shaking as she told me there was an intruder in our home. The urgency in her tone sent a chill down my spine, and I had instinctively pressed the accelerator, pushing the car to its limits.
The speedometer climbed to 80 km/hr as I weaved through traffic, my heart pounding in my chest. But then, out of nowhere, a young redheaded boy appeared in the middle of the road. He seemed to have materialized from thin air, his wide eyes staring straight at me. I slammed my foot on the brake, but the pedal went all the way to the floor with no resistance. Panic surged through me. The brakes had failed.
In a split second, I made the decision to swerve. The car veered violently to the side, and I lost control. The vehicle flipped once, twice, three times, before coming to a jarring stop. My world went dark as I lost consciousness.
When I woke up, I wasn’t sure where I was. The world around me felt distant, muffled, like I was hearing it through a thick wall of fog. My body was heavy, unresponsive. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t open my eyes. It was terrifying—until I heard a familiar voice.
Elaine. My wife.
“How long do you think it’ll take?” she whispered, her voice cold and detached, so unlike the panicked tone she had used when she called me.
“I don’t know,” a man replied. His voice was low, smooth, and unfamiliar. “But he should be gone soon enough.”
Gone? My heart raced as I struggled to make sense of what I was hearing. Who was this man? Why was Elaine talking to him like that?
“Good,” she said, her voice filled with a sickening satisfaction. “Our plan worked perfectly. Once he’s gone, we can finally be together without any obstacles.”
My blood ran cold. They were talking about me. They wanted me dead.
Elaine had been behind the accident. She and this man—her lover, her accomplice—had sabotaged my car, hoping the crash would kill me. They had planned it all. The call about the intruder was a lie, just a way to get me to speed home, to ensure the crash would be fatal.
But it hadn’t been. I was still alive. And I had heard everything.
Days passed, or maybe weeks—I couldn’t tell. I was trapped in my own body, unable to let anyone know what had happened. I was a prisoner in my mind, tormented by the knowledge of Elaine’s betrayal. Every time she visited, she put on a show, acting like the grieving wife who couldn’t bear to lose her husband. But I knew the truth.
And then, one day, something changed. I felt a flicker of movement in my fingers. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Slowly, I began to regain control of my body, piece by piece. The doctors called it a miracle. They said it was incredible how quickly I was recovering after being in a coma for so long.
But I didn’t care about their praise. I had only one goal: to get out of that hospital bed and confront Elaine.
When the day finally came that I was able to speak, I called the nurse into the room. I told her everything—about the brakes, about Elaine, about the man I had heard in my hospital room. She looked at me with wide eyes, clearly shocked, but she believed me. She promised to inform the authorities.
It didn’t take long for the police to piece together the evidence. The brakes on my car had been tampered with, just as I had suspected. And when they investigated further, they found records of Elaine’s phone calls and messages with the man she had been conspiring with—an old flame she had reconnected with months before my accident.
The trial was swift. Elaine and her lover were convicted of attempted murder. I watched her face as the verdict was read, but she didn’t look at me. She kept her head down, refusing to meet my gaze. The woman I had loved, the woman I had shared my life with for years, was nothing more than a stranger to me now.
As I walked out of the courtroom, a free man in more ways than one, I felt a strange sense of peace. The nightmare was over. I had survived, against all odds, and now I had a second chance at life.
Elaine had hoped I wouldn’t come out of that coma alive, but I did. And now, I was ready to start over—without her.
