My Husband Tried To Pull The Plug On My Life For $2m. He Didn’t Realize I Could Hear Him Whispering His Plan. Now I’m Awake, And I’m Coming For Everything.

Opening My Eyes

I focused all my remaining energy on one point: my eyes. My eyelids felt as heavy as iron, sealed shut with an invisible superglue. But I didn’t care. The hatred for Rick and Brenda was a fuel far more potent than any stimulant.

I pictured Lily’s face, my little girl who still needed her mother. If I died now, Lily would be raised by these monsters. Rick would blow through my inheritance on gambling, and Lily would be neglected. No, that couldn’t happen.

Open. Open your eyes, Eleanor.

With a single ragged breath that felt like it was tearing my chest apart, I forced my eyelid muscles to work. Slowly, the white light of the ICU room began to filter in, blurry, blinding. Everything was a hazy, unfocused shape.

“Doctor, look!” Nurse Jenny cried out.

I blinked once, twice. The shapes in front of me began to sharpen. A face, Michael’s worried face, was directly above mine. Behind him stood Jenny, her hand over her mouth, her eyes welling up with tears.

And in the corner, I saw them. Rick and Brenda.

Rick’s face turned ashen instantly, white as a sheet. His eyes widened as if he were seeing a ghost rising from the grave. He took an unconscious step back, bumping into the IV pole and making it sway. His mouth hung open, but no sound came out. The grieving husband mask he had been wearing shattered, replaced by an expression of pure horror.

He knew. He knew I had heard his final whisper.

Brenda was frozen, her hands clutching her expensive leather handbag. The old woman’s face tensed, her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.

The Message

“Eleanor, can you hear me?” Michael asked, his voice trembling with emotion. He leaned closer.

I tried to answer, but my throat was parched. The ventilator tube was lodged in my mouth, making me want to gag. It was painful. I could only manage a weak groan.

“Uh… easy, Eleanor. Easy. You’re still on the ventilator. Don’t fight the machine,” Michael instructed gently. He looked at Jenny. “Prepare for ventilator weaning. She’s fully conscious. We’ll try to extubate now if her spontaneous breathing is adequate.”

Rick suddenly stepped forward, trying to regain control despite the fear etched on his face.

“Wait, Doctor, is she really conscious, or is this just… just a reflex before she passes? You know, they say there’s a final rally before the end, right?”

How vile you are, Rick. Even as I open my eyes, you still hope for my death. Michael turned to Rick with a sharp glare I had never seen before.

“Mr. Henderson, your wife opened her eyes and made direct, purposeful eye contact. This is not a reflex. This is consciousness.”

The process of removing the ventilator tube was agonizing. It felt like a long snake being pulled from deep inside my lungs. I coughed violently, my chest burning. Tears streamed from the corners of my eyes. Nurse Jenny deftly cleared the mucus from my mouth and fitted an oxygen mask over my face.

“Breathe, Eleanor. Slowly,” Michael guided.

I greedily inhaled the pure oxygen. My lungs ached, but that pain was proof that I was alive. I stared hard at Rick, a look that sent a clear message: The war has just begun.