When Leah opened her eyes, the world spun violently.

Pain flooded her body—sharp, heavy, unbearable. Her mouth was dry, her limbs felt distant, as if they no longer belonged to her. Somewhere nearby, voices echoed through the corridor, muffled by walls and medication.

She recognized one immediately.

“The condition is critical,” the head doctor said quietly. “Liver failure is progressing fast. Three days at most.”

Leah’s heart skipped.

Then she heard the second voice.

Oliver.

Her husband.

Leah closed her eyes again, leaving just a thin slit between her lashes. The door opened.

Oliver entered the room carrying a bouquet of fresh flowers. He looked the part perfectly—worried husband, devoted partner. He sat on the edge of the bed and gently took Leah’s hand.

His fingers brushed her wrist slowly, almost tenderly. He leaned closer, certain she was too heavily sedated to hear or understand anything.

And then he whispered:

“Finally… I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

Leah’s breath caught.

“Your house. Your accounts. Your businesses… all of it will finally be mine.”

He smiled—not cruelly, not openly. Softly. Almost lovingly.

In that moment, Leah understood the truth with terrifying clarity:
her husband had never loved her. He had only loved what she owned.

Oliver stood, rearranged his expression into one of concern, and stepped into the corridor. His voice changed instantly.

“Please keep a close eye on her,” he told the nurse gently. “I’m so worried… she’s my whole world.”

The door closed.

Leah opened her eyes fully, her heart pounding so hard it hurt more than the illness itself. Rage and clarity cut through the haze of medication.

She heard water splashing in the hallway. Quiet footsteps. Someone was washing the floors.

Leah gathered every ounce of strength she had left.

“Girl…” she whispered hoarsely. “Come here.”

The door opened slightly. A young nurse peeked inside—thin, pale, alert despite her fear. Her name badge read: Maria.

“Are you feeling worse?” Maria asked, already preparing to call the doctor.

“No,” Leah whispered. “I need to ask you for something.”

Maria hesitated, then stepped closer.

Leah grabbed her hand—weakly, but urgently.

“Listen carefully,” Leah said. “If you do exactly what I tell you… you will never have to work as a nurse again. Ever.”

Maria froze. Her eyes widened.

“What… what do I need to do?”

In a low, steady voice, Leah dictated everything:
the address of the safe, the code, the list of documents, the name of her lawyer, the phone numbers, and precise instructions on which surveillance recordings from the clinic must be preserved.

Maria didn’t interrupt. She didn’t question her.

When Leah finished, Maria nodded once.

“I’ll do it,” she said. “I promise.”

By morning, everything was done.

All documents—real estate, businesses, investment portfolios, accounts—were transferred to a charitable foundation. Every last asset.

A small percentage of the foundation was legally registered under Maria’s name—enough to ensure she would never struggle or break her body for money again.

When Oliver returned later that day, he was ready for another performance.

He sat beside Leah, clasped her hand, and whispered with practiced sorrow,
“How are you feeling, my love?”

Leah looked at him weakly, as if she barely had the strength to breathe.

“Oliver…” she said softly. “I signed the documents.”

He froze.

“What documents?” he asked cautiously.

She coughed, pretending to gather her thoughts.

“I donated everything to charity,” she said quietly. “You won’t get anything.”

Oliver’s face twisted.

“What did you do?!” he hissed. “You couldn’t! You had no right!”

Leah met his eyes.

“Did you think I was blind?” she whispered.

He snapped, his mask falling apart.

“Give it back! Do you hear me?! It’s mine! You’re dying anyway!”

Leah smiled faintly.

“You always wanted me dead, Oliver,” she said calmly.
“But it seems you’re the one who lost everything.”

And for the first time, he had nothing left to take.