Rising from Betrayal

White ceiling. That was all Norman Calloway ever saw in this hospital, for the past two weeks.

His body felt like stone due to the accident two weeks ago. Heavy, stiff, refusing to move no matter how hard he commanded it.

His throat was plugged with a breathing tube that felt like burning iron every time air was pumped into his lungs.

Then the sound of the door opening pulled his gaze toward it. Two figures walked in—a doctor in a white coat, and a woman with long brown hair wearing an elegant black dress.

Vivienne.

His wife.

Warmth spread through Norman's chest. She finally came to visit.

But something about the way Vivienne walked made him go still. There was no panic. No tears. Her steps were easy, almost... light. Like someone who had just finished shopping, not visiting a dying husband.

The doctor—his name pinned to his chest, Dr. Marcus Webb—opened a tablet and began speaking in a professional tone.

"Mr. Calloway's condition remains critical, ma'am. However, his vital organs are responding well. With intensive care over the next two to three weeks, the chances of recovery are still—"

"No need to report it. Pull the plug."

Norman froze.

Vivienne said it in the same tone someone would use to order coffee. Flat. Weightless.

Dr. Webb raised an eyebrow. "Mrs. Calloway, your husband still has a chance. Terminating life support now would—"

"I heard you, Doctor." Vivienne twisted the gold bracelet on her wrist, her eyes drifting to the window, her voice cold. "Just do what I said. Pull it."

What?!

Norman’s eyes widened with confusion.

His wife wanted to kill him? Seriously?!

He tried to question, but nothing came out. Tried to move his hand, but it wouldn't budge. His body was a prison, and all he could do was stare from behind those bars as his wife signed his life away.

Dr. Webb went quiet for a moment. Norman caught the hesitation in the man's eyes—just a flicker—before he gave a slow nod.

"Very well."

Very well?

That was it? No further protest? No ethics procedure, no medical committee, no second opinion?

Severely injured in the accident and too weak to resist, Norman could only watch helplessly.

The doctor moved to the side of his bed. His hand reached for the tube in his throat.

The first pull felt like fire.

Norman's body reacted on its own. Convulsing, muscles contracting hard, his back arching off the mattress. The heart monitor spiked in a frenzy.

CRASH.

His shoulder slammed into the bed rail as his body seized. His eyes flew open wide, staring at a ceiling that seemed to spin.

Then it all went quiet.

Dr. Webb set the tube on the tray with a movement so casual, so routine, it was like he'd just taken out his earphones. He noted something on his tablet, gave a single nod toward Vivienne, and walked out of the room.

Without looking back.

Without a word.

The door clicked shut.

Norman's breathing was his own now—ragged, shallow, every inhale like swallowing broken glass. He had no idea how much time he had left. Five minutes? Less?

Vivienne stood there with her arms crossed, watching him as he gasped on the bed.

Her eyes filled with nothing but contempt, as though he were nothing more than a piece of trash.

Twenty years of marriage had done nothing to change her.

She remained as cold, poised, and unattainable as ever, and the way she looked at him had never changed.

"You know what, Norman," Vivienne said, settling into the chair in the corner and crossing her legs gracefully, "I think you deserve to know the truth before you die."

It turned out Vivienne hadn't come here to sit with him while he died in silence.

"Nathan is the one I've always loved."

Nathan?!

Norman stared at her in disbelief.

"And those five kids?" Vivienne glanced over at him briefly, her smile cold and cruel. "None of them are yours. They’re all Nathan’s"

Norman's world collapsed.

Five children. Twenty years of his life.

And not one of them was his.

“And before long, the Calloway family's trillion-dollar fortune will belong to Nathan and I as well.”

"Don't blame me for being ruthless. You brought this on yourself.” Her voice grew colder, as if remembering the past.

“You were the one who tore Nathan and me apart. My family desperately needed money back then, and you took advantage of that, leaving me with no choice but to marry you.”

"Honestly, for the past twenty years, every single night I had to share a bed with you made me sick."

Norman’s face, already flushed from oxygen deprivation, turned an even deeper crimson, as though it might burst at any moment.

He struggled to force his mouth open, but not a single breath came.

The rage burning inside him had nowhere to go.

His chest heaved violently as his heart raced out of control, driven into a frenzy by the lack of oxygen.

Vivienne stood and walked toward the bedside table. On it sat a tablet—a legal device.

"The company assets, the accounts, the Calloway family properties..." Vivienne tapped the screen with one finger. "Everything needs your signature. But don't worry. You don't have to do a thing—I'll handle it all once you're gone."

As Norman’s consciousness began to fade, he heard Vivienne's voice once more.

"Oh, and one more thing. That accident? Nathan and I arranged it. The timing couldn't have been more perfect.”

“Now you're finally about to die. Thanks God.”

Murder!

This is murder!

"Tonight, after all this is done..." Vivienne picked up her bag from the chair and checked her lipstick in a small mirror. "Nathan's already waiting. We're going to celebrate your death at the rooftop restaurant in the Corholt Grand. Best table in the house. Perfect, isn't it?"

She snapped her bag shut with a sharp click.

"Goodbye, Norman. Wish you misery in hell."

Vivienne walked out. Her steps just as light as when she had walked in.

The door closed.

Norman was alone.

The heart monitor beeped slower, and slower still.

In the darkness creeping in from the edges of his vision, only one thing filled his mind — not grief, not fear.

Rage.

Pure, burning, unshakeable.

"If only I could turn back time..."

The monitor let out one long, flat tone.

His body gave one final violent convulsion before going completely still.

The life left Norman’s body, but his eyes remained wide open, unwilling to close.