The monotonous beeping was the first thing. Not the familiar sounds of my life-architectural blueprints or classical music. Then came the blinding glare and the crushing impact. I was on my way to Lily' s school play. When I opened my eyes, a nurse told me I was Mr. Johnson, that I' d been in a coma. My wife, Sarah, and daughter, Lily, were safe, she said, with a pity that chilled me. Ten years. A decade gone. My heart shattered as I searched a tablet for Sarah. She wasn' t the warm woman I knew, but CEO Sarah Miller, a tech titan, always pictured with Alex Chen, her "constant companion." I frantically searched for Lily, finding nothing. It was as if she' d vanished from her mother' s glossy new world. Ignoring hospital staff, I ripped out my IV. Weak and desperate, I fled. I found Lily on a street corner, a ghost of my seven-year-old girl, selling charcoal sketches. Thugs harassed her, a city official threatened to confiscate her work, and then Sarah' s sleek car pulled up. My wife looked at our daughter, not with warmth, but cold annoyance. "Lily, just stop. You' re hopeless." The word echoed, hitting Lily harder than any physical blow. Something inside me snapped. Ten years of helplessness erupted. I attacked the thugs, the official, protecting my daughter. Then, Lily collapsed. Back in a drab hospital, I called Sarah. Her assistant dismissed me: "Ms. Miller is in a very important board meeting." Later, a kind nurse revealed Lily paid for my care, sacrificing everything. My daughter, starving, while her CEO mother was too busy. When Lily visited, gaunt and tired, she tried to lie about an art class, but I knew. She was going back to work the streets for me. My wife was in a board meeting while our daughter gave up her life for mine. Raw guilt and rage consumed me. I vowed to get stronger, to save my daughter.
The monotonous beeping was the first thing. Not the familiar sounds of my life-architectural blueprints or classical music.
Then came the blinding glare and the crushing impact. I was on my way to Lily' s school play.
When I opened my eyes, a nurse told me I was Mr. Johnson, that I' d been in a coma. My wife, Sarah, and daughter, Lily, were safe, she said, with a pity that chilled me.
Ten years. A decade gone.
My heart shattered as I searched a tablet for Sarah. She wasn' t the warm woman I knew, but CEO Sarah Miller, a tech titan, always pictured with Alex Chen, her "constant companion."
I frantically searched for Lily, finding nothing. It was as if she' d vanished from her mother' s glossy new world.
Ignoring hospital staff, I ripped out my IV. Weak and desperate, I fled. I found Lily on a street corner, a ghost of my seven-year-old girl, selling charcoal sketches.
Thugs harassed her, a city official threatened to confiscate her work, and then Sarah' s sleek car pulled up.
My wife looked at our daughter, not with warmth, but cold annoyance. "Lily, just stop. You' re hopeless."
The word echoed, hitting Lily harder than any physical blow.
Something inside me snapped. Ten years of helplessness erupted. I attacked the thugs, the official, protecting my daughter.
Then, Lily collapsed.
Back in a drab hospital, I called Sarah. Her assistant dismissed me: "Ms. Miller is in a very important board meeting."
Later, a kind nurse revealed Lily paid for my care, sacrificing everything. My daughter, starving, while her CEO mother was too busy.
When Lily visited, gaunt and tired, she tried to lie about an art class, but I knew. She was going back to work the streets for me.
My wife was in a board meeting while our daughter gave up her life for mine. Raw guilt and rage consumed me.
I vowed to get stronger, to save my daughter.
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