Chapter 1: The Barrage That Knows My Pain

Three years. That’s how long I cared for my comatose husband. Three years of hospitals, routine, and clinging to hope. When I finally sold our house and brought in a hotshot neurologist from Berlin—Dr. Klaus Weber, flown in on short notice—I started seeing a barrage of bizarre, floating comments no one else could see.

The first time it happened, I was so sleep-deprived I thought I was hallucinating. But the words just hovered there, neon-bright and impossible to ignore. Like the ticker on a Times Square news crawl—except these were about me. I blinked hard, rubbed my eyes, but the comments didn’t go away. I mean, who sees that?

"This is the final test! As long as the side character spends all her money to hire the expert from Germany, the male lead will realize she wasn’t after his fortune, wake up instantly, and take her back to inherit his billion-dollar legacy."

"Dream on. If she brings in the expert, how can my gentle, sweet heroine keep up the ruse with the male lead faking his coma?"

"Exactly! I’m still waiting for the male lead to sneak out at night, kiss the heroine, and spoil her rotten."

Side character? Was this some kind of joke? I stared at those words. My mind spun. This couldn’t be real. In disbelief, I looked at Ethan Caldwell, lying silent and still in the hospital bed. The soft whir of the machines, the faint antiseptic smell, the way the late afternoon sun slanted across the white sheets—it all felt too ordinary for something so surreal to be happening. The whole room pressed in on me: the beep of monitors, the chemical tang, the hush of footsteps in the hallway.

Was he really just pretending?

No. No way. Not Ethan. Not the man I’d loved... the man who’d once driven three hours in a snowstorm just to bring me homemade soup when I had the flu.

I went back to the attending doctor, Dr. Cooper, and asked for another evaluation.

Same as always.

"Mrs. Miller, there’s still no sign of improvement. Ethan’s condition is unchanged."

His voice was gentle, practiced, the way you talk to someone you’ve seen break down before. I could hear the faint Chicago accent in his vowels, the same one Ethan had when he was tired. I let out a shaky breath. Tried to steady myself against the edge of the nurse’s station.

I knew it. Ethan couldn’t possibly be lying to me. Right?

But the next moment, the barrage of comments flickered again.

"For a second, I thought the side character was onto something. Thank God the doctor didn’t slip!"

"I was holding my breath! I almost thought the male lead’s act was about to be exposed!"

"Don’t worry~ Don’t forget, Ethan Caldwell is the crown prince of Chicago’s elite. The hospital’s already in his pocket. No one would dare spill his secret. The side character will never figure out he’s faking."

I shivered. Even though the room was warm, goosebumps prickled my arms. My heart thudded with a dull, warning ache.

I looked at Dr. Cooper, who avoided my eyes and tried to comfort me:

"Mrs. Miller, you’ve been so devoted these three years. As long as you keep believing, he might wake up soon."

How soon was "soon"? Was there a timeline for hope? I wanted to ask, but the words stuck in my throat. Bitter as bile. I didn’t answer. Instead, I turned to Ethan and called his name, again and again, just like I did back when we were dating.

I cried as I told him about our past, begged him to wake up and look at me, but he didn’t move.

I cried until I was empty. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Uncaring. I could finally breathe. My mind felt clearer, my voice was hoarse, but at least I could breathe. I didn’t know what those comments were, and nothing they said had come true—yet. I refused to believe that Ethan, who had stood by me through so much, could ever lie to me.

I’d already sold our house and bought a ticket for the afternoon flight. I wiped my tears, stood up. Started packing.

Over the last two years, I’d brought a lot into Ethan’s hospital room. After selling the house, everything else came here. This trip to Germany would be a long one, so as I packed, I spoke to Ethan.

"The first time you celebrated my birthday, I wished to travel to Germany. Back then, you said you’d go with me, but I never thought I’d be going now to find someone to save you. If I’d known Germany would mean this, I never would've made that wish."

My voice trembled, but I tried to keep it light, as if talking about travel plans and not a desperate search for hope. I tucked his favorite hoodie into my suitcase, the one he used to wear on lazy Sunday mornings when we’d binge-watch old sitcoms.

"Ethan, I’ll be gone at least a week. I hired someone to look after you while I’m away. When I come back, you’ll wake up for sure!"

But the barrage popped up again:

"The side character is actually leaving for a week? That means the male lead and our sweet heroine get a whole week together—so many possibilities!"

"Exactly, with the side character gone, the leads can kiss in the hospital room again, maybe even try the orange trick. I love this!"

"You two are delusional! The side character’s going to get in a car accident on the way to O’Hare, miss her flight, and lose her shot at hiring the expert. That’s why she fails the test, and the male lead only believes in desire, not love, ending up with our sweet heroine."

My hand, halfway through folding a sweatshirt, froze. For a moment, I just stood there, my mind blank except for the echo of the word "accident."

A car accident?

Even though nothing from the barrage had come true yet, they spoke with such certainty.

Could everything really happen just like the comments said? Was my life really that predictable to these faceless voices?

Still, I couldn’t believe it. Couldn't believe Ethan, after all these years, was a liar.

So, I decided to test it myself.

I grabbed my luggage and called a rideshare to the airport.

The first thing I told the driver was, "Please drive safe."

I even double-checked my seatbelt, pressed myself back into the seat, and tried to keep my mind clear. But the accident still happened. At an intersection, a car with failed brakes crashed into several vehicles—including ours. The rideshare was wrecked. Thankfully, neither the driver nor I were seriously hurt, but traffic was blocked for miles, and I was stranded on the overpass waiting for rescue. I missed my flight to Germany.

The world outside the cracked window was all flashing lights and the shrill whine of sirens. I sat on the curb, knees drawn up, shivering in the wind, my phone battery nearly dead. I couldn’t even focus on my bruises—I rushed back to the hospital.

Sitting there in despair, the barrage appeared again:

"Oh my God! These leads are so wild—even the rooftop? The male lead’s stamina is unreal!"

"Roleplay—nurse and patient! Taboo but so shippable!"

"Honestly, the thrill of sneaking around is fun, but I hope the side character leaves soon so the leads can go at it every day."

"Don’t rush, the side character just had a car accident. She can’t hire the expert and is out of the game. In a few days, she’ll get kicked out! Just wait!"

My chest tightened with a mix of anger and humiliation. Was I just a puppet in someone else’s story? My face burned. I couldn’t even focus on my bruises—I rushed back to the hospital.