My Comatose Husband Please Wake up!

I stare at my reflection in the mirror, gripping the edge of the vanity until my knuckles turn white. Today is supposed to be the happiest day of my life. But all I feel is a dull ache settling in my chest. I’m marrying a man I’ve never met, a complete stranger who may never even wake up. What kind of future is that?

Vivian’s voice crashes through my thoughts, sharp as glass.

“Lana!” she yells from the other side of the door. “What are you still doing? You should be dressed by now!”

Vivian—my stepmother—has always treated me like a burden. She married my father when I was sixteen and made it clear from day one that I was in her way. Her daughter, Naomi, could do no wrong, while I was always the problem. And now, she’s the one forcing me into this marriage.

I clench my jaw, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. Of course, she’d be impatient. She’s been waiting for this moment—to see me helpless, backed into a corner with no way out.

“I don’t want this,” I mutter under my breath. “I’m not happy, Vivian.”

She bursts through the door, her eyes narrowing. “Oh really?” Her voice drips with sarcasm. “Then go ahead, cancel the wedding. Tell the Knights it’s off. Let your father rot in that hospital bed.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I stagger beneath their weight. My father, hooked up to machines, fighting for his life. The doctors said he wouldn’t make it without surgery. Five million dollars—that’s what the Knights promised if I marry Adrian, their son. Without that money, my father dies. And all I have to do is tie my life to a man who’s as good as gone.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.” My voice trembles, but Vivian only smirks.

“Spare me the sob story.” She pulls out her phone, tilting the screen toward me. “Here. Take a good look at him. Not so bad, huh?”

Adrian stares back at me from the photo. I blink, stunned. He’s… perfect. Sharp features, a strong jawline, deep-set hazel eyes, and tousled dark hair. I could almost imagine falling for someone like him.

But the picture doesn’t tell the whole story. The man I’ll marry isn’t standing tall or smiling like he is in this photo. He’s lying in a hospital bed, unmoving. Crippled. Comatose.

My chest tightens. How am I supposed to marry a man who might never wake up?

Vivian chuckles, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Don’t get any funny ideas. He’s not Prince Charming, sweetie. Just a vegetable with a good face.”

I swallow hard, bile rising in my throat. But I have no choice. It’s for my father.

Vivian drops a crumpled pile of fabric on the bed. “Here. Wear this.”

I glance down, and my stomach churns. The dress is ugly—a faded, shapeless thing, more like a rag than a wedding gown. She’s trying to make me look ridiculous in front of the Knights, and I can feel the satisfaction radiating from her.

“No way,” I whisper. “I’m not wearing that.”

She shrugs, already halfway out the door. “Your problem, not mine.” And with that, she’s gone.

Before I can argue, my phone buzzes. Jordan’s name flashes on the screen. I hesitate, my thumb hovering over the answer button. Jordan is Adrian’s cousin. Funny how life works. I’ve been dating him for almost a year, and now I’m marrying his comatose cousin.

“Jordan…”

“Hey, babe,” he says, his voice warm and reassuring. “You hanging in there?”

I let out a shaky breath. “Barely.”

He pauses, as if weighing his words. Then his tone shifts—calm, almost too calm. “Listen, Lana. You just have to marry Adrian and get through the wedding, alright? After that, everything will be fine.”

“How can you say that?” My voice cracks, and I hate how weak I sound.

“It’s simple.” His voice lowers. “You marry him. Get pregnant. Once you’ve done your part, Adrian will probably die on his own. Then we divorce him, and everything goes back to normal.”

He's such a sweet soul.

I feel a lump form in my throat. “Jordan, this isn’t—”

“Trust me,” he cuts in gently. “We’ll raise the kid together. It’ll be ours. You don’t need to worry about a thing, babe.”

His words are supposed to comfort me, but instead, they leave me feeling cold and empty. How did my life spiral into this mess?

“Okay,” I whisper, forcing the words out. “Thank you.”

He hums in approval, and before I can say anything else, the line goes dead.

I lower the phone, numbness spreading through me. Then I hear the sound of a car pulling up outside—the driver is here. It’s time.

I glance down at the hideous dress Vivian threw on the bed. My hands tremble, but I push them to the back of my mind. I can’t wear that. Not today.

I cross the room to my closet, reaching for a garment bag tucked at the very back. Inside is my mother’s wedding dress. Ivory silk, with lace so fine it looks like delicate vines climbing along the fabric. I run my fingers over it, feeling the ghost of my mother’s presence.

She looked so beautiful in this dress. And now, I’ll wear it. Not because of Vivian. Not for the Knights. But for myself—and for my father.

I slip the dress on, smoothing the fabric over my body. It fits perfectly, as if it were made for me. For the first time all morning, I take a breath that doesn’t feel heavy.

With one last glance at the mirror, I square my shoulders and walk out the door.