He bent over his dying wife and revealed what he had never dared to say before—unaware that someone was secretly hiding beneath the bed, listening to every word.
He had visited this hospital many times, each visit filling him with irritation and weariness. He always chose the stairs over the crowded elevator, avoiding encounters with patients or doctors. Climbing the stairs gave him a chance to avoid anyone looking at him or asking questions—even polite ones. This time, he carried a hastily bought bouquet of small white roses, pale like the hospital walls.
He knew Larissa wouldn’t notice the flowers, but showing up empty-handed in front of the medical staff and her family felt wrong. Especially now, after a month of her lying near death. The flowers seemed like a waste of money, but Cyril gritted his teeth, forcing the image of a devoted husband.
The harsh hospital lights stung his eyes, a reminder of the long night he’d spent drinking and smoking with friends, reminiscing about simpler times.
As he climbed the stairs, his mind returned to reality. Each day Larissa spent in this private clinic was draining his finances. He recalled the figures the doctors mentioned during consultations.
All the treatments and equipment were costly, money slipping through his fingers on something with no signs of improvement. Though he acted concerned to her parents and doctors, his bitterness grew. He wondered how much longer this would last. Larissa showed no signs of recovery, yet hope was continually talked about—hope that came at a great price.
He thought about what awaited him if she died—her apartment, her money, her business—all his for the taking.
When he entered the room, he leaned over Larissa and whispered what he’d never had the courage to say before.
“Larisa,” he whispered after making sure the door was closed. “I just want this to end. I’m tired. Every day here costs so much, and it feels like I’m losing everything for nothing.”
His voice was low, almost a hiss, as he glanced at her pale face surrounded by machines gently buzzing. She lay still, only the ventilator’s rhythm marking her breath.
“Doctor Stanciu said you might need two more months of treatment. Two months! That means selling the car or taking a loan. For what? To delay the inevitable?”
He placed the roses on the nightstand and sat, running a hand through his hair.
“I went to the notary last week. Your will is ready—all will go to me. The apartment downtown, the company shares, the bank accounts, everything from your parents.”
A cold smile crossed his lips.
“Remember when I suggested making a will? You thought it was just paperwork, that we’d grow old together. How naive you were.”
He leaned closer.
“The truth is, I never loved you. I married you for your money and status. And now, Alina is waiting for me—your secretary. Ironic, isn’t it? We’ve been together almost a year. She understands me, unlike you with your constant complaints.”
Under the bed, Larisa’s younger brother Mihai lay frozen, barely daring to breathe. He’d come earlier to leave her a small porcelain angel. Panic swept him when he heard someone coming, so he hid beneath the bed, hoping to avoid being caught after visiting hours.
But it was Chiril. And what he overheard chilled him.
“The doctors say you don’t have long,” Chiril continued, watching the monitors. “But you’ve always been strong. That’s why we fought so much.”
He folded his arms.
“Sometimes I wonder if you hear everything I say. Dr. Stanciu said patients in comas can sometimes hear. But it won’t matter soon.”
He moved to the window, staring at the city lights.
“I just need patience. Alina wants us to go to the Maldives after… well, after. We’ll need a break.”
Mihai’s anger surged. He wanted to expose Chiril but stayed hidden, collecting evidence.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Chiril said harshly. “Those company transfer documents—you hid them. I’ve searched everywhere. Where are they?”
He squeezed Larisa’s limp hand.
“Without them, the transfer will take months. I don’t have that time.”
Suddenly, Larisa’s heart monitor beeped differently—her pulse rising. Chiril looked surprised.
“What’s this?” he murmured, releasing her hand.
Mihai smiled quietly. She hears you, you villain.
The door burst open as Nurse Claudia rushed in.
“Something wrong? Her heart rate spiked.”
Chiril forced concern.
“I was just telling her how much I miss her,” he lied.
Claudia checked the IV and Larisa’s chart.
“Patients in her condition respond to familiar voices—it’s a good sign.”
Chiril echoed uncertainly, masking his panic.
“Yes, it means brain activity. Keep talking to her.”
After she left, Chiril spoke softly, almost tenderly.
“My dear, get better. We have so many plans. I love you.”
But Larisa’s heart returned to normal.
Chiril glanced at the clock and sighed.
“I have to go—business meeting. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
When he left, Mihai waited, then slowly emerged.
Beside his sister, he took her hand, tears in his eyes.
“I heard everything, Lari. I know his plans. Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”
He checked his phone.
“The recording worked perfectly. I have every word.”
Whispering in her ear:
“Fight, sister. Wake up. We have much to settle.”
To himself, he added:
“I’m heading to Prosecutor Neagu. He’ll want to hear this.”
Placing the angel next to the roses, Mihai left, leaving hope in the room.
As he descended the stairs—the same ones Chiril climbed—Mihai’s resolve hardened. Chiril’s scheme was unraveling, and justice was on its way.
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