Three years

Today marks the three-year anniversary of her coma. The woman my husband loves. Yes, you heard that right. The woman that MY husband loves, lays unconscious from saving his life.

It also happens to be my birthday. What an unfortunate coincidence.

I’m unsure of all of the details, as James has barely spoken of his time before me or his time with Marina, but his true love saved him from some form of brutal attack that killed almost his entire family.

The doctor that I was shadowing at the time took the woman, as she was barely breathing and I took the man, who despite all of his wounds, was almost stable.

Something about this man felt like we knew each other. The familiarity was undeniable, like how I would imagine love it first sight. I tended to his wounds for a week before he’d finally woken up and the moment I saw those bright green eyes, I was hooked.

I’ve never been the type of woman to fall head over heels for a man. Hell, my father made it impossible for me to even date. No one would be good enough for the heir of Red Pharmaceutical. I was to be wedded only to the best, most eligible bachelor.

A man fit for royalty like myself, my father would say.

When I’d heard James and his grandfather speaking in hushed tones after the accident about him needing to get married and settle down, I concocted a plan.

It was supposed to be simple; I offered to marry James so that he gets what he wants, and in return, I get him.

But his stipulation was that I offer my services to his one true love, Marina.

We wedded in a massive ceremony fit for a Queen, though it was far from personal. My mother handpicked everything, all the way down to my dress. Which was hideous. Nothing was how I would have liked it to be, but I didn’t dare object.

Mother wanted everything to be white. The dress, the shoes, the jewelry. Even the damned flowers. It was so washed out.

“It’s better for pictures,” she’d say, “The magazines will love this.”

Not to mention the entire spectacle looked to be irritating James to his core.

Our faces were plastered on every newspaper for weeks. Each one speaking of true love and the official end to a lifelong feud between the Red’s and the Wood’s.

The moment the ceremony ended; James skipped out on the reception to remain by Marina’s side.

That’s where he remains now. Plastered by her bedside, grasping onto her hand like somehow the warmth will bring her back to him. Like he truly believes that his touch will cure her.

It’s envious. Some days, I watch him and wonder what it would be like to be Marina. To be shown that level of love and dedication from a man like James Wood.

I’ve watched him from the sidelines brush out her long, chocolate brown hair. I’ve watched him apply ChapStick to her lips, so that when she woke up, it would be one less thing for her to worry about. He massaged her feet and legs when they grew cold from poor circulation and slept on the floor next to her medical bed every night since the three of us moved into this home.

He pays me no mind, though I’m sure he knows I’m watching. It seems he always knows when I’m watching. Like the presence of his wife is intruding on the presence of his true love.

To him, I am simply a caretaker and the key to his inheritance. Without me, his grandfather would never have agreed to sign the company over.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I contemplate whether or not to ask him to join me for dinner. It’s my birthday after all but my mouth couldn’t formulate the words.

Today is her day. Their day as I see it.

He stood, lingering next to her bedside before turning towards me, “I’ve got some things I need to take care of. I expect you’ll have her massage and sponge bath finished before I return.”

“Do you think after I’m finished, we could celebrate?”

I was met with an angry glare, “You’re serious?” he scoffed, staring into my pleading eyes, “How could you possibly want to celebrate anything while she lays in a coma?”

His voice raised as he continued, making me flinch, “It would do you good to show half an ounce of sympathy.”

James didn’t wait for a response before he brushed past me on his way down the hall. The sound of his office door slamming was my signal to begin.

Walking towards the bed, I held back tears. I hated the woman that lay unconscious below me. I didn’t need to know her to know that I loathed her existence. She was the woman who owned my husband's heart.

The heart that I wanted to call my own.

I thought with time he’d see me. Not just with his eyes but feel that undeniable connection that I feel.

I’m not giving up. Not to her. Not to anyone.

After the massage, I cleaned Marina up, taking care to gently redress her, and change out her pillows.

James had demanded they be washed and replaced once a week after he noticed a divot forming after she lay on the same one for ten days.

“Won’t make that mistake again,” I muttered under my breath as I grabbed the pillow from the floor, taking one last glance at Marina before heading down the steps to eat the small cupcake I’d purchased for myself.

After roughly wiping the tears from my face, I leaned over the counter to blow out my singular candle, James’ angry shouts made my feet move on instinct.

“What’s going on?” I flinched as I rushed into Marina’s room.

My eyes widened as I saw her body thrashing wildly on the bed. Grabbing my stethoscope, I kneeled next to her, checking her pulse. Her heart rate was too high. Her skin was cool to the touch but sweat spilled from her pores.

Swallowing hard, I raised my eyes to meet James’.

He was glaring at me, “The ambulance is on the way. If I find out you harmed a single hair on her head,” he growled, “I will make sure you regret it.”

Tears blurred my vision as I watched the paramedics wheel Marina away. How could he think I had anything to do with it? I’ve played my part as the dutiful wife and caretaker. I may hate her because she has the one thing that I want but hurting her would go against my ethical code.

I am a doctor for God’s sake. My job is to heal, not cause harm.

 And what would I gain from hurting her? The outside world knows nothing of our agreement.

They see the niceties between the two of us when we are forced to parade around in public. They see the loving looks that he’s learned how to fake so well.

What they don’t see is my breaking heart.

They can’t see the truth in my eyes when I watch his every move. The love that I feel every single time that we're near each other. He’s like a black hole, sucking me in and I’d gladly get lost within his orbit.