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.

Locker 303

Rick looked restless. He fumbled in his pants pocket, perhaps for his phone or cigarettes, or just for an escape.

“Honey, thank God you’re awake,” he said, his voice sounding completely off-key. He tried to approach and take my hand. I weakly jerked my hand away, rejecting his touch. Disgusting. His skin felt like poison.

“Eleanor…” Rick looked startled by my rejection.

I looked at Michael. I had to tell him now, before Rick had a chance to manipulate the situation or hurt me again when no one was around. My voice was a hoarse whisper, barely audible like sandpaper on wood.

“Doctor…” I managed to call out.

Michael immediately brought his ear close to my lips. “Yes, Eleanor. Take your time. What hurts?”

I gathered my last bit of breath. I glanced at Rick, who was watching me wearily. He was leaning in, trying to eavesdrop.

“Keep him away,” I hissed, flicking my eyes toward Rick.

Michael understood. He held up a hand, signaling for Rick to back off.

“Please give us some space, Mr. Henderson.”

Rick retreated reluctantly, his eyes never leaving me. Cold sweat began to bead on his temples. I grabbed the collar of Michael’s scrubs, forcing him even closer. So close that only he could hear my whisper. This was the key to Rick’s downfall. This was my real life insurance policy.

“Phone,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “In locker 303. The resident’s lounge.”

Michael frowned, confused but listening intently.

“The code…” I swallowed hard. My throat was raw. “His mother’s death date.”

I glanced at Rick. Rick didn’t know his own mother’s death date because he didn’t care. But he used that date as his ATM pin because it was the only date he’d ever bothered to record from his father’s old journal. The day he got his first inheritance. Ironic.

Michael froze. He slowly pulled his face back and looked deep into my eyes. He saw the seriousness and the fear there. He was a neurosurgeon; he was brilliant. He immediately understood that this was not the rambling of a post-coma patient. This was a distress signal.

The Trap is Set

Michael’s face, which had been full of medical concern, turned pale. He realized the implications of what I had said. A hidden phone, a secret code, a patient’s terror of her own husband. Michael straightened up, trying to remain professional, though his hands trembled slightly. He looked at Rick, his gaze now filled with suspicion.

“Nurse Jenny,” Michael called, his voice deliberately flat. “Please watch over Mrs. Henderson. Don’t let anyone near her, including family, without my permission. I need to get a special medication from the pharmacy for a moment.”

“But Doc, I’m her husband!” Rick protested, his tone rising with panic. His criminal instincts were sensing danger.

“Post-coma observation protocol, Mr. Henderson. The patient needs absolute quiet, or she could have a seizure,” Michael lied smoothly. He patted Jenny’s shoulder, giving her a look that only two people who had worked together for years could understand: Protect her.

Michael turned and walked quickly out of the ICU room. I saw him reach into the pocket of his white coat, pulling out his own cell phone. His fingers danced across the screen. He wasn’t calling the pharmacy. I knew he was calling someone far more important right now: the police.

Rick watched Michael leave with unease. Then his eyes returned to me. That look was no longer one of love or grief, but the look of a predator realizing its prey has just escaped its jaws. And now, the hunter has become the hunted.

I managed a faint smile behind my oxygen mask. You’re finished, Rick.