My Son Is In A Coma After A Horrific Accident. While He Was Fighting For His Life, I Discovered Where His Wife Really Was. Should I Confront Her Now Or Wait Until I Take Everything?
He Wakes Up
Sunday morning I got to the hospital at 7:00 a.m. Emma showed up at 10:00, looking tired. She sat with Marcus for her allotted 10 minutes, came back out.
“Any change?”
“Not yet. Doctor says maybe Monday or Tuesday.”
“I need to run home, shower, get some clothes. I’ll be back this afternoon.”
She didn’t come back until 6:00 p.m. When she did, she smelled like men’s cologne, not Marcus’s brand.
Monday morning, Dr. Patel said they were going to try bringing Marcus out of sedation.
“He’s healing well. I want to see if he can breathe on his own.”
Emma and I stood together outside his room, watching through the window as they reduced the medications. At 11:23 a.m., Marcus’s eyes fluttered open. Emma gasped.
“Oh my god, he’s awake.”
But I saw something she didn’t. When Marcus’s eyes focused and he saw Emma, his expression didn’t change. No relief, no love, just nothing.
Then his gaze shifted to me and his eyes filled with tears. The nurse came out.
“He’s asking for you, Mr. Holloway. Just you.”
I went in alone. Marcus couldn’t talk yet—ventilator still in—but he could write. I gave him a notepad and pen. His hand shook, but he managed to scrawl: I know about Derek.
My heart stopped. “How long have you known?”
He wrote: 6 months. Saw texts. Tried to fix it.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Embarrassed. Thought I could win her back.
I sat down hard in the chair next to his bed.
“Son, you can’t win someone back who was never really yours.”
He closed his eyes, tears streaming down his face. I took his hand.
“I’ve got you,” I said. “I’m handling this. You focus on getting better.”
He squeezed my hand twice. Yes.
The Confrontation
When I came out, Emma was pacing.
“Is he okay? What did he say?”
“He’s tired. They’re keeping visitors limited today.”
Jenny called at 2 p.m.
“Richard, we’ve got movement. Emma tried to access the joint account this morning. System flagged it due to the conservatorship order. She called the bank, got told she’s restricted. She’s going to know something’s up.”
“Good. Let her know.”
At 4:30 p.m., Emma confronted me in the waiting room.
“Richard, what did you do? I can’t access our accounts.”
“Not our accounts. Marcus’s accounts.”
“I’m his wife! I have every right!”
“You have the right to be here for your husband, which you weren’t. You have the right to support him, which you didn’t. You don’t have the right to steal from him while he’s unconscious.”
Her face went white. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I pulled out my phone, showed her the screenshots: her Instagram, the hotel charges, the photos of her and Derek.
“You were at a resort with your boyfriend while Marcus almost died. You’ve been planning to divorce him and take half of everything. That ends now.”
She stepped back. “You can’t prove any of this.”
“I can prove all of it. Private investigator’s report. Bank records showing you moving money into hidden accounts. Emails between you and Derek. Your own documents showing you calculating how much you’d get in a divorce.”
Emma’s voice went cold, hard. The mask dropped.
“That house is mine. I decorated every room. I picked out every piece of furniture. I’m not walking away with nothing.”
“You’re walking away with exactly nothing. Ohio law is very clear about adultery. You cheated. You abandoned. You stole. Marcus knows. He woke up today and asked me about Derek.”
She stared at me. “He knew for months.”
“But he’s my son. And I’m done watching you hurt him. You can’t do this.”
“I’ll fight this.”
“Go ahead. I’ve got 32 years as a cop and every favor I’ve ever earned queued up and ready. You’ve got a boyfriend who won’t leave his wife and $47,000 you embezzled. How do you think this plays out?”
She grabbed her purse. “I need to talk to a lawyer.”
“Good idea.”
She walked out. I watched her go, feeling something settle in my chest. Not satisfaction yet, but the beginning of it.
Derek’s Reckoning
Tuesday morning, Derek Vance’s wife called me. Tony had done his job.
“Mr. Holloway, this is Catherine Vance. I understand you have information about my husband and Emma Holloway.”
“I do, and I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this.”
“I already know. A private investigator hand-delivered photos to my office yesterday. Four trips together, hotel rooms, the works. I’m filing for divorce today.”
“Good for you.”
“Mr. Holloway, Derek is a VP at Meridian Pharmaceuticals. I sit on the board. I’m also the niece of the CEO. Derek’s employment contract has a morality clause. I’m invoking it. He’ll be terminated by end of business today. I appreciate you telling me.”
“No, I appreciate you. Women like Emma, men like Derek—they think they can destroy families without consequences. Let’s show them otherwise.”
Emma called me at 3:17 p.m. Tuesday, hysterical.
“What did you do? Derek just got fired! He’s blaming me!”
“That wasn’t me. That was his wife. You remember her? The woman whose marriage you destroyed?”
“This is insane. You can’t just ruin people’s lives!”
“I’m not ruining your life, Emma. I’m protecting my son’s. Big difference.”
She hung up.
The Legal Hammer Drops
Marcus was extubated Wednesday morning. First words he said to me: “Did you really clean out her access?”
“Every account. House is in conservatorship. Cars are registered to the estate. She can’t touch anything.”
He smiled. Weak, but real. “Thanks, Dad.”
Emma came to the hospital Wednesday afternoon with a lawyer, a weasely guy in a cheap suit. They demanded to see Marcus. Dr. Patel stopped them at the door.
“My patient has requested no visits from Mrs. Holloway.”
“I’m his wife!”
“He’s conscious and competent. He can refuse visitors. He’s refused you.”
The lawyer sputtered about spousal rights. Dr. Patel didn’t budge.
“This is a hospital, not a courtroom. Leave or I’ll call security.”
They left.
Thursday, Marcus was moved out of ICU to a regular room. Friday, he started physical therapy. Saturday, one week after the accident, he could sit up and eat solid food.
I stayed with him every day, sleeping in the chair by his bed, bringing him real food when the hospital meals weren’t cutting it.
“Dad,” he said Saturday night. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner about Emma.”
“You don’t apologize for trying to save your marriage.”
“I was stupid.”
“You were hopeful. That’s not the same thing.”
He looked out the window. “How much did she take?”
“About $47,000 from joint accounts. Jenny’s filing criminal charges—felony theft, likely probation and restitution.”
“I don’t want her to go to jail.”
“Then we’ll settle for divorce and full financial restitution. But son, she doesn’t get to walk away clean. She abandoned you when you needed her most.”
He nodded slowly. “Okay.”
