Marry The Woman In Coma

My father, a Navy SEAL who never flinched, was dying, and his last wish was to see me married.

I turned to the three girls he' d raised as his own, my childhood sweethearts, who had jokingly "promised" to marry me.

My proposal was met with cruel rejections: one claimed animal activism, another gamophobia, and the third cited her high-powered tech career.

But then a video surfaced: my three "family" members, draped in designer clothes bought with my money, laughing and intimately lounging on a yacht with Ethan, our chauffeur' s son.

They were wearing identical friendship bracelets, and Sarah was practically in his lap.

Their excuses were elaborate lies, designed to mock me while they squandered my family's fortune.

The betrayal burned, but their final act solidified my rage.

When my father succumbed to his illness, they ignored his deathbed wishes, choosing a "hike" with Ethan over a final goodbye.

A storm raged that night, and I, fearing for their safety, embarked on a desperate, all-night mountain search.

My leg was injured, my body was broken, but my heart shattered when Sarah' s call came through: she was safe at a luxury resort, laughing with Ethan, mocking my concern.

"Liam, are you done with your little drama yet?" she sneered.

I returned to the hospital, only to find a nurse pulling a sheet over my father' s face.

I swore then that they would pay, by choosing the one woman who could never lie or betray me.

On my wedding day, dressed for a union born of despair, they burst in, feigning remorse, attempting to reclaim their position.

"Why are you marrying a comatose woman? Why not one of us?" they shrieked, their contempt for my comatose bride palpable.

But just as I placed the ring, Clara Sterling, whom they had called "a living corpse," slowly opened her eyes.

"Who," she said, her voice cold and resonant, "are you calling a cripple?"

She rose from her wheelchair, walked to me, and kissed me, revealing the shocking truth: she had never been in a coma.

My life with Clara, built on truth and unwavering devotion, had just begun.

My so-called family, defeated and exposed, were given a severance and exiled.

Years later, I learned their tragic fate: they had been trafficked and killed in Thailand, a cruel end to their greed.

I never looked back.

My world, once shadowed by betrayal, was now illuminated by the laughter of my wife and daughter, a bright, clear horizon stretching before us.

The sterile white of the doctor's office felt cold, the air thick with unspoken words. My father, John Harrison, a man who had faced down enemies as a Navy SEAL without flinching, sat perfectly still in his chair, his broad shoulders slumped for the first time I could ever remember. The doctor' s words echoed in the silence.

"Terminal lung cancer, stage four."

The diagnosis hung between us, a heavy, invisible weight.

"The treatments can prolong things, give you more time, but we need to be realistic about the prognosis, Mr. Harrison."

My father just nodded, his gaze distant. I felt a hollowness spread through my chest, a physical ache that made it hard to breathe. He looked at me, his eyes, usually so sharp and commanding, were now filled with a deep, weary sadness.

"Liam," he said, his voice raspy. "There's one thing... one thing I need to see before I go."

I leaned forward, my hands gripping the arms of my chair. "Anything, Dad. Anything at all."

"I want to see you get married. I want to know you're settled, that you have someone to build a life with."

His wish, his dying wish, landed on me with the force of a physical blow. Marriage. It had always been a distant idea, something for the future. The future just got a lot shorter. But for him, I' d do it. I' d do anything.

"Of course, Dad," I managed to say, forcing a reassuring smile. "Of course."

Back at the mansion, the weight of the day pressed down on me. I sat in my father' s study, the scent of old books and leather a familiar comfort. On the mantelpiece were photos of us, and of them. Sarah, Chloe, and Emily. The daughters of my father's fallen comrades, the girls he raised as his own. The girls who had been my entire world. They' d all sworn it, countless times, laughing under the summer sun or whispering during late-night movies.

"When we grow up, I'm going to marry you, Liam!"

It was a childhood promise, a running joke that always felt like something more. Now, it was my only hope. I pulled out my phone, my thumb hovering over Sarah' s name. My heart hammered against my ribs.

I called her first.

"Liam? What's up?" Her voice was cool, distant.

"Sarah, I... I need to ask you something important," I started, the words feeling clumsy. "My dad... he's not well. His dying wish is to see me married. Will you... will you marry me?"

There was a long pause. I could hear the faint sound of music in the background.

"Oh, Liam," she said, her tone laced with a kind of pity that felt worse than outright rejection. "I can't. You know I'm dedicated to my animal rights activism now. I have a protest to organize next week in D.C. I just can't be tied down by something like marriage. My calling is too important."

My stomach dropped. "I see."

"I'm sorry," she said, though she didn't sound it. The call ended.

Shaking, I dialed Chloe's number. She answered on the second ring, her voice bubbly.

"Liam! To what do I owe the honor?"

I repeated my desperate proposal, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.

She laughed, a high, tinkling sound. "Oh, honey, that's sweet, but terrible timing. I literally just discovered I have gamophobia. You know, a pathological fear of commitment. My therapist says I need to focus on myself right now. Marriage would be, like, totally triggering."

I couldn't even form a response before she hung up. One last chance. Emily. She was the practical one, the smart one. She would understand.

"Liam, I'm in a board meeting," she answered, her voice clipped and professional.

"Emily, please, just give me thirty seconds." I rushed through the explanation, the plea.

Her response was as cold and sharp as glass. "Liam, my tech startup has a strict policy against personal relationships that could be a distraction from our work. We're on the verge of a major breakthrough. I can't jeopardize my career. I'm sorry."

Click.

Three calls. Three rejections. The silence in the study was deafening. I stared at the photos on the mantel, at their smiling faces, and felt a profound sense of bewilderment.

Later that afternoon, my phone buzzed with a video message from a friend. The caption read: "Aren't these your girls? Living it up!"

I opened it. The video was shaky, clearly filmed from a distance, but the images were sharp enough. A gleaming luxury yacht cutting through the water. And on the deck, Sarah, Chloe, and Emily. They were in bikinis, laughing, drinking champagne. With them was Ethan, the son of my family's chauffeur. They were all wearing identical, sparkling friendship bracelets. As I watched, Sarah leaned back and sat right on Ethan's lap, her arm slung around his neck.

The world tilted on its axis. Animal rights activism. A phobia of commitment. A demanding startup. It was all lies.

My hands felt cold. A quiet, chilling rage began to build inside me. I walked through the quiet halls of the mansion until I found Alfred, our family's long-time butler, polishing silverware in the dining room. He had been with my family since before I was born.

"Alfred," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "The old engagement agreement. The one my grandfather made with the Sterling family. Does it still stand?"

Alfred stopped his work, his expression one of complete surprise. He looked at me over the rim of his spectacles.

"It certainly does, Young Master," he said slowly. "But... Miss Sterling was in that terrible car accident last year. She has been in a coma ever since. Are you quite sure you want to marry her?"

I felt a fresh wave of despair wash over me, but my resolve didn't waver. A woman in a coma. At least she couldn't lie to me. At least she wouldn't break my heart.

"Yes," I nodded, the single word heavy with finality.

Alfred looked deeply concerned. "If I may be so bold, Young Master... why?"

I didn't answer. I just held out my phone and played the video. I watched his face as he saw the yacht, the girls, the chauffeur's son. He saw the bracelets, the casual intimacy, the blatant betrayal. He was silent for a long time, his jaw tight. When he finally looked up, the surprise was gone, replaced by a cold, hard anger.

"Very well, Young Master," he said, his voice clipped. "I'll handle the arrangements."

Later that evening, the purr of an expensive engine announced their return. Sarah's Cadillac Escalade, a gift from my father on her last birthday, pulled into the circular driveway. The four of them got out, laughing and laden with shopping bags from high-end boutiques. My eyes immediately locked onto Ethan's wrist. He was wearing a new watch, a Patek Philippe. I recognized the model instantly, a million-dollar timepiece.

My phone, which I had silenced, vibrated incessantly in my pocket. I pulled it out. The screen was a flood of unread messages. Notifications for charges on my supplementary credit card. One after another, they scrolled past. Ten million dollars. Gone. In a single afternoon. Ethan was dressed from head to toe in new designer clothes, a smug, self-satisfied look on his face.

Remembering my father, lying in a hospital bed, his time running out, I took a deep breath. I suppressed the inferno of rage building inside me and, with a steady finger, deleted all the messages.

Chloe, not even looking at me, tossed a small, heavy shopping bag in my direction. It landed at my feet.

"Liam, this is a thoughtful gift we picked out for you."

I bent down and opened it. Inside, nestled in velvet, was a hand-carved crystal watch stand. An accessory. An accessory for Ethan's new, million-dollar watch.

Thoughtful indeed, I thought, a bitter taste in my mouth. The leftovers.

I looked up at them, my face a carefully constructed mask of calm. "Thank you. It's very nice."

Emily smirked, brushing a piece of lint from her new jacket. "Don't mention it. Consider it a consolation prize." She then leaned in, her eyes probing mine. "By the way, you haven't told your dad we turned down your proposal, have you?"

I just shook my head, not trusting my voice.

Seeing my somber mood, Sarah put on a gentle, concerned expression. "Liam, I know you're upset we said no. But we couldn't help it. I've found my calling in activism; I can't just abandon my life's purpose for you."

"Exactly," Emily added, nodding sagely. "We all have our reasons. Can't you be a little more understanding?"

I stared at them, a storm of emotions churning inside me. Just hours ago, these were the same women in bikinis, taking turns sitting on Ethan's lap, striking seductive poses for a camera. Now they stood before me, draped in designer clothes bought with my money, acting self-righteous and noble. The hypocrisy was breathtaking.

Instead of calling them out, instead of showing them the video and watching their faces crumble, I changed the subject. My voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

"My dad's in the hospital. Can you visit him tonight?"

Sarah paused, her feigned concern faltering for a second. "What's wrong with Mr. Harrison?"

Before I could answer, Ethan, who had been standing back and enjoying the show, interjected smoothly. "Hold on, Chloe, didn't we agree to hike up Mount Crestwood tonight? We were going to watch the sunrise tomorrow."

Chloe looked conflicted, her eyes darting between Sarah and Emily. A cold dread seeped into my bones. I knew what was coming.

Emily was the one who said it. "That's right, Chloe, we can't break our promise to Ethan. Besides, Mr. Harrison is a strong ex-SEAL; it's probably nothing serious. There's no need to rush. We can visit him after the sunrise tomorrow. He loves us; he won't mind."

Sarah nodded in agreement, her face clearing as if a great burden had been lifted. The four of them then turned and walked off laughing towards the mansion, their shopping bags rustling. They didn't look back. They didn't care.

My father, the man who raised them, was less important than a hike with Ethan.

My eyes started to sting. A bitter, humorless smile stretched my lips.

---

The four of them disappeared into the grand entrance of the mansion, their laughter echoing in the twilight air, leaving me standing alone in the driveway. Their decision was clear, their priorities laid bare. A sunrise with Ethan trumped a visit to the man who had given them everything.

When did it all change? When did I become an afterthought in my own home, to my own family? The answer was simple. It changed five years ago, on my birthday, the day Ethan moved in.

Ethan was the chauffeur's son, a shy, quiet kid when he first arrived. Sarah, Chloe, and Emily, who had always doted on me, who followed me around like loyal puppies, immediately shifted their focus. Ethan was fair-skinned, with soft features and a quiet voice that seemed to evoke all their maternal and protective instincts at once. They abandoned me, the birthday boy, to fawn over Ethan, calling him their "little brother," their affection for him immediate and absolute.

I was hurt and feeling neglected, so I made a few sarcastic remarks. I don't even remember what I said, but it was enough. Ethan's father, Mr. Davis, tried to pull him away, apologizing for the intrusion. But Ethan resisted, and in the scuffle, he stumbled backward, knocking over the massive champagne tower. Glass shattered, champagne drenched my suit, and the nine-tier custom cake was ruined.

In a fit of pique, I pushed Ethan. It wasn't a hard push, but he was off-balance. He stumbled and hit his head on the corner of a marble table. Blood bloomed from the cut, dark against his pale skin.

Mr. Davis rushed to my side, frantically wiping at my clothes with a napkin, asking if I was okay. But Sarah, Chloe, and Emily ignored me completely. They rushed to Ethan's side, helping him up, dabbing at the blood.

"The champagne tower can be rebuilt, the cake can be remade; Ethan didn't do it on purpose!" Sarah had shouted at me, her face twisted in anger.

"Why did you hit him? Just because it's your birthday?" Chloe had added, her eyes flashing.

It was the first time they had ever yelled at me. From that day forward, a chasm opened between us. They grew more distant, their time and affection increasingly reserved for Ethan. I had become the villain in my own story.

Watching the mansion doors close behind them, I looked down at the shopping bag at my feet. The crystal watch stand. A trophy from their day of betrayal. Without a second thought, I picked it up and walked over to the large trash receptacle by the garage. I dropped the bag inside. It landed with a soft, unsatisfying thud.

Their tainted affection, like this unwanted gift, belonged in the garbage.

That night, I sat alone by my father's hospital bed. The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor was the only sound in the dimly lit room. It was midnight. Sarah, Chloe, and Emily never showed up.

I let out a bitter, silent laugh, a tightness gripping my chest. I hadn't really expected them to come, not really. But a small, foolish part of me had held out hope. Seeing the empty doorway, seeing my father hooked up to an oxygen machine, still weighed on me heavily.

On the bedside table, my father's phone was dark, but I knew what the screensaver was. It was a picture of him from last summer's barbeque, a big, genuine smile on his face. On either side of him, hugging him tightly, were Sarah, Chloe, and Emily, all of them beaming.

My father, the decorated Navy SEAL, was ambushed on a mission deep in enemy territory years ago. Three of his men, his brothers-in-arms, sacrificed themselves to ensure he and the vital intelligence he carried made it back across the border. The guilt had haunted him ever since. After he retired, he found their orphaned daughters-Sarah, Chloe, and Emily-and adopted them, vowing to care for them as his own.

Growing up, they always received more affection than I did. My father was trying to make up for a debt that could never be repaid. Understanding this, and being a mature kid, I never held it against him. I cared for them like an older brother, shielded them, and made sure they never suffered. I genuinely loved each of them, and for years, I had agonized over which one I would eventually choose as my life partner. My father had even publicly stated that his future daughter-in-law would be one of them.

A sad, ironic joke. His dying wish was for me to marry one of them, but his beloved adopted daughters had no intention of marrying me. They were too busy with Ethan.

As I sat there, lost in these painful memories, my phone buzzed with a news alert. It was a push notification from a local weather station.

"EMERGENCY: Severe storm warning issued for the city tonight. All residents are advised to avoid forests, mountains, rivers, and reservoirs due to the high risk of flash floods."

My heart jumped into my throat. Mount Crestwood. The sunrise viewing spot was halfway up a steep, treacherous trail. A flash flood would be inescapable.

---