Unable to endure his wife’s funeral, the man hurried away early from the cemetery…

«Don’t know exactly. But think about it. When do people benefit from someone being dead? Usually when it’s about money.

Or something like that.» Alex remembered the recent death of Grandpa Nicholas and that Olivia was his favorite granddaughter. Remembered Mary’s words at the cemetery: «Forgive us all.»

Remembered how relatives quickly took over all funeral arrangements, insisted on a closed casket. «Grandpa Nicholas,» he whispered. «Olivia said he made a will leaving everything to her as sole heir.

And if she dies, it goes to the other relatives. That’s what Grandpa decided.» «See, you figured it out yourself,» Katie nodded.

«Now come on. We need to see this woman so you can be sure with your own eyes.» «But how do we get into ICU? They don’t let strangers in.»

«They don’t let unknown adults. But they know me—janitor’s daughter, sometimes helps with cleaning. I’ll say I brought a friend to Mom.

Main thing, act natural and don’t draw attention.» The hospital hit them with smells of bleach and meds, mixed with hospital food aroma. In the lobby, people milled: some waiting for appointments, some pacing nervously, some quietly grieving bad news.

Typical scene for any city hospital on a weekday. Katie confidently passed the front desk, waving to the elderly security guard. «Uncle Pete, going to Mom.

Anna Johnson, third floor, janitor.» The guard nodded, not lifting his head from the newspaper. Clearly, Katie’s presence was so routine it surprised no one.

«Mom works on the third floor,» Katie explained, leading Alex to the stairs. «ICU in the east wing. But you can’t just walk in, of course.

First, talk to Mom.» On the third floor, smells were stronger—bleach and meds plus that unmistakable hospital odor. They met a short woman about fifty in a blue work smock, pushing a cart with cleaning supplies.

Her face was tired, but kind eyes lit up seeing her daughter. «Katie, why so early today?» she wondered. «Usually after school, and it’s only three p.m.

And who’s with you? Mom, this is Uncle Alex.» «He needs help,» the girl said seriously. The woman, obviously Anna Johnson, looked at Alex attentively.

Her gaze was kind but wary. Maternal instinct told her something was off. «Anna, hello, I’m Alex,» he said, trying to sound calm.

«Your daughter says there’s a woman in ICU under fake documents. There’s reason to believe it’s.» «My wife…» «Oh, what are you saying, Katie!» Anna threw up her hands.

«What inventions are getting into your head? Mom, it’s not inventions,» Katie insisted. «I heard the nurses myself about the woman in room seven. And I saw her with my own eyes—exactly like the photo from the cemetery.»

Anna paled and nervously glanced around. «Katie! We agreed you wouldn’t hang around cemeteries anymore, and you’d keep quiet about what you overheard by accident.» «Mom, but what if it’s really Uncle Alex’s wife?» «If they put her there under a fake name on purpose so everyone thinks she’s dead.»

Alex stepped closer. «Anna, I know it sounds unbelievable. But my wife died in an accident exactly on Monday.

If there’s even the slightest chance she’s alive. Please, help me.» «How’s the patient listed in documents?» Anna hesitated, then sighed heavily.

«Elena Peterson, 30 years old. Admitted Monday with severe traumatic brain injury after car crash. Condition very critical, coma.

Documents handled by Doctor Ortiz, said distant relative, but family asks no disclosure.» «Ortiz.» Alex repeated, feeling blood freeze.

«Paul Ortiz?» «Yes, that’s his name. And you know him?» «Olivia’s cousin. He was at her funeral.»

Alex remembered the tall, balding man with gold teeth who offered condolences. «Tall, balding, gold crowns in mouth, that’s him.» «Works as a therapist, it’s him,» Alex whispered.

«Anna, please, let me see this woman.» «I won’t tell anyone, won’t get you in trouble.» Anna looked at Katie, then Alex.

Her eyes wrestled compassion and fear for her job. «You understand, if this comes out, I’ll be fired immediately.» «I need the job badly, raising daughter alone, husband long gone.

No education, I give my word, no one will know you helped,» Alex swore. Just one look. «If it’s not her, I’ll leave and forget everything.

And if it is, I’ll find another way to help her without compromising you.» Anna hesitated more, studying Alex’s sincere face. «Okay,» she said quietly.

But very quick and careful. Now it’s lunch time, most doctors in the cafeteria. In ICU only the on-duty nurse, but she’s in the office filling reports…

The ICU was in the characteristic dimness of medical facilities. Blinds muted daylight, creating focused quiet. Machines beeped steadily monitoring vitals, oxygen tanks hissed softly, ventilation hummed monotonously.

«Room seven at the far end of the hall,» Anna whispered, carefully opening the department door. «Go quietly, try not to make noise.» «And if you see staff, leave immediately.

Say you mixed up doors.» Alex walked the hall, heart pounding wildly. Each step was hard, legs like lead.

What if it’s really Olivia? How could he survive such a discovery? And what next? How to prove relatives staged her death? In room seven by the window stood a hospital bed surrounded by complex medical gear. Ventilator, heart monitor, several IVs, sensors tracking patient status. And amid all this technical splendor lay Olivia.

Alex stopped dead, not believing his eyes. His wife lay on the hospital bed, alive, breathing. Face pale and still, but completely intact—no burns, no mutilated features.

Hair combed, someone clearly cared for her. On her left shoulder he made out the familiar mole, on her wrist the faint butterfly tattoo. «Olivia,» he whispered, reaching out but not daring to touch, «don’t touch,» warned approaching Anna.

Any touch and the equipment might beep, and the nurse would notice changes on the monitors. Alex stood, unable to look away. His wife was alive.

She’d been here five days while he buried some other woman, grieved, planned to live without her. She’d been here all this time, a few miles from home, helpless and alone. «Her condition. What do doctors and nurses say?» he asked hoarsely.

«Is there a chance of recovery? From what I heard from nurses, condition stable but serious,» Anna replied quietly, checking the chart at the bed’s foot. «And what’s in the medical history?» «What admission circumstances?» Anna studied the entries carefully. «Motor vehicle accident in Riverton area late Monday evening…