After Falling Into a Coma

I became a vegetable after a car crash. Except I couldn't wake up, couldn't move. Everything else worked fine. Hearing the doctor confirm my vegetative state at the hospital, I fell apart inside. But thankfully, I had a family that loved me very much. They carefully asked the doctor about all the things needed to take care of me. Like turning me every two hours, managing my bodily functions regularly, talking to me a lot. Honestly, I wished they'd just let me go. But I couldn't bear to leave my family. And my family didn't give up on me. They brought me home and took meticulous care of me. One day, I drifted out of sleep. From outside the room, I heard my mother-in-law let out a bloodcurdling scream. Then a child's cry – must have been my daughter. My husband's voice yelled, "What are you doing?!" But then, silence. All I could hear was the endless, rhythmic sound of chopping. Like a butcher working nonstop. Who was here? What happened to my family? The chopping went on and on. Gradually, a heavy smell of blood filled the air. Mixed with the chopping was a woman's laughter. The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it. Why was she killing my family? Who was she? If I weren't like this, trapped in my own body. I'd be shaking with rage, bursting out of this room to fight her. But I could only lie here. Helpless. Listening as this person murdered the people I loved most. I don't know how much time passed before I heard footsteps outside my door. It was her! The killer! She turned the doorknob. My heart leaped into my throat. I forced myself to keep my heartbeat steady. 2. To my surprise, the woman didn't do anything to me. She seemed exhausted. She lay down beside me on the bed. Soon, I heard the slow, even sound of her breathing as she slept. When she woke up, she didn't leave. She actually started living in my house. I remained motionless in bed. Every time I remembered the happy times with my family. Hatred surged through me. I hated being useless like this, unable to move. Hated that I couldn't avenge them myself. Maybe someone up there heard my wish. My fingers started to twitch. Joy sparked in me – a good sign. I prayed I'd wake up soon. I didn't know why this woman hadn't killed me. But if I woke up, she wouldn't get away with this. Ever since she killed my family, the woman stayed in my house. And every day, she slept next to me. After waking up, she'd leave for a long time. When she came back, I'd hear her in the kitchen, cooking. Then, the sound of her watching TV in the living room. Acting like she owned the place. Every night before sleeping, she'd sit in my room and talk. I couldn't tell if she was talking to me or just herself. What she said was always the same. Cursing my family. She'd use my in-laws', my husband's, and my child's names, then launch into long tirades. She called my father-in-law a hypocrite, dirty, disgusting. Lies! My father-in-law was refined, honorable, always straightforward. She said my mother-in-law was lazy, greedy, sharp-tongued, and cruel. I screamed back in my head – my mother-in-law was gentle, kind, understanding. She said my child was ungrateful, a little viper we'd raised. But my child was sweet and well-behaved. She said my husband was treacherous, a womanizer. My husband was the most honest, reliable man, completely devoted to me. She cursed everyone. Except me. Who was this woman? Why did she have such twisted ideas about my family? 3. I could feel movement returning to my hands and feet. Whenever the woman was out, I secretly tried to move, doing my own physical therapy. I had a feeling I'd wake up soon. Lying there, I planned what I'd do when I woke up. And I survived by reliving precious memories of my family. I grew up an orphan, so I always craved love. I dreamed someone would cherish me completely. Then, just like I wished, he appeared. My future husband, Alex. I met him in college. It was cliché, really. I'd been studying in the library all morning. When I came out, it was pouring rain. And I didn't have an umbrella. Starving, I just stood by the door, waiting for it to stop. "Hey, need to share my umbrella?" A gentle, magnetic voice spoke. I turned and saw a guy in a white shirt, holding an umbrella, tilting his head as he looked at me. His eyes were dark, clear, and incredibly kind. He rendered me speechless. Suddenly, my stomach betrayed me with a loud growl. As I flushed with embarrassment, the guy beside me chuckled softly. "I'm starving too. Let's hit the cafeteria together." From that day on, we slowly became friends, then more than friends. Alex was wonderful to me. He brought me breakfast every morning, surprised me with gifts, took me out, listened to all my worries and trivial complaints, studied with me. He gave me complete security and companionship. When he found out I was an orphan, he took me to meet his family. They liked me immediately. His parents treated me like their own daughter. My father-in-law gave me advice on my studies and career path. My mother-in-law took me shopping for clothes; we could talk about anything. In my junior year, I got pregnant and had to take a year off. I didn't want to terminate the pregnancy; this baby was a symbol of Alex's and my love. But taking a year off school was a big deal. My body changed, and being stuck at home all day, I developed prenatal depression. I refused to see anyone, just cried at home constantly. Alex and his family were worried. I moved into their house. My in-laws took such good care of me. Alex's family lived in the same city as the university. So, he switched to commuting and came home every day to be with me. With their support, I slowly got better. After I gave birth to a daughter, Alex and his family were overjoyed. Once I recovered, Alex formally proposed. Under a sky full of stars, he looked deep into my eyes and promised: "Let me give you a warm home." I said yes, tears streaming down my face. Offering me a home, to someone who'd never had one, was impossible to refuse. We officially started our life together, a happy family of five. After the baby, everyone supported me going back to finish my degree. My in-laws helped watch the baby. I focused completely on my studies. Finally, I graduated with my diploma and degree. After graduation, I even got a job at a major company. Career, love, and family – I had it all by age 23. After getting married, Alex and I worked during the day, and his parents watched our daughter. In the evenings, Alex and I would take her out. On weekends, Alex and I would have date nights. My daughter was sweet and sensible, the kind of angel baby everyone talks about. She did well in school, never gave us any trouble. My sweet girl would even make me birthday presents. She told me I was the most beautiful mom in the world. But now, all of it was destroyed. Lying in bed, I suddenly felt a tickle on my cheek. Tears were rolling down my face. What did our family ever do to that woman? Why would she be so brutal? 4. After who knows how long, I suddenly felt I could control my body again. My eyes flew open, my heart pounding wildly. Just as joy flooded me – the chance to avenge my family – a voice echoed in my mind: Forget the truth. It sounded like an old man. What truth? I was confused. But I didn't dwell on it. I needed to get out. The woman had just left; now was the perfect time to escape. I stood up, only to immediately fall. Sharp pain shot through me. My body had been rigid for too long; it wasn't fully recovered. I sat on the floor for a while, catching my breath. Dragging and crawling, I made my way out of the room. The house looked the same, just as it was before the accident. I scrambled to the TV stand, found the landline, and dialed 911. When the operator answered, I explained the situation. But strangely, they said they couldn't hear me, told me not to tie up emergency lines. I thought maybe the phone was broken, but I couldn't find my cell anywhere. I needed to get out, report this at the police station. But the front door was locked. We lived on the eighteenth floor; jumping wasn't an option. Too much time had passed since I woke up. I was scared the woman would be back soon. Hurriedly, I crawled back to my room and resumed my vegetative act. I decided I couldn't let her know I was awake. I was afraid she'd kill me, and I'd lose my chance for revenge. Besides, my body wasn't strong enough yet; I wouldn't win a fight. Suddenly, I heard the woman returning. I quickly lay back down, mimicking the posture I'd held for so long. The woman went through her usual routine: cooking, watching TV, then coming into my room to talk to herself. But this time was different. As she spoke, she suddenly burst into tears. She sobbed heartbrokenly, murmuring, "My poor daughter... ruined by you people..." Daughter? What did she mean? What happened to this woman's daughter? Did she kill my family because something happened to her child? Still, I trusted my family. They wouldn't do anything illegal or immoral. I lay perfectly still, afraid to even breathe too loudly. It was agonizing, trying to keep my breathing slow and rhythmic. Don't let her notice anything. Luckily, she was too caught up in her grief to pay attention to me. After crying, she got into bed beside me. My palms were sweating, I was so tense. After what felt like an eternity, the woman fell asleep. I slightly turned my head, wanting to open my eyes just a crack to see who this person with the familiar voice was. The moment I saw her face clearly. My blood ran cold. I was looking at a face identical to my own! How could someone look exactly like me? My whole body started trembling uncontrollably. No wonder the voice was familiar – her voice was identical to mine too. Suddenly, the woman shifted in her sleep. I slammed my eyes shut, pretending to be unresponsive. My mind reeled with disbelief. I lay awake all night, considering endless possibilities. Could she be a twin sister I never knew? Being an orphan, I had no way of knowing if I had siblings. But if she were my sister, why wouldn't she reveal herself? And why murder my family so brutally? I couldn't believe it, didn't want to believe it. Even if she was my sister, I wouldn't acknowledge her. Not after she killed the people I loved. There was another possibility. She deliberately had plastic surgery to look like me. Then, using my face, she killed my family, moved into my house, and planned to frame me for everything. The second possibility felt more logical, more acceptable. I remembered my mother-in-law kept a spare key in her room. I continued playing the part of a vegetable, planning to grab the key and escape the next day when the woman left. 5. The next day, the woman went out. My body wasn't as stiff as yesterday, though my steps were still unsteady. I slowly walked to my mother-in-law's room and found the key in a drawer. For some reason, the room felt... eerie. Suddenly, my hand slipped, and the key clattered to the floor. I bent down to pick it up. And noticed something under the bed. I looked closer, my eyes meeting the wide-open, staring eyes of a corpse beneath the bed. I screamed. But quickly regained composure, tears streaming silently down my face. Under the bed lay the bodies of my father-in-law and mother-in-law. No! Not bodies... pieces. That cruel, vicious woman had dismembered them, stacking the pieces under the bed. Their heads were placed there too. I fought to suppress my sobs. Then, I searched the entire house for my husband and daughter. I finally found my husband's body in the freezer. But I couldn't find my daughter. Instead, I found the body of a little boy. The child's cry I'd heard that first day must have been his. Children's voices can sound similar; I must have mistaken it. Could my daughter still be alive? A flicker of hope ignited within me. I quickly used the key to unlock the front door and ran downstairs as fast as I could. Running was difficult. I grabbed a passerby, trying to borrow their phone to call the police. But the person ignored me. I tried stopping person after person on the street; they all ignored me. I had no money. All I could do was force my unsteady legs to carry me towards the nearest police station. My bare feet burned against the pavement. When I reached the station, I grabbed an officer, trying to report the crime. But even stranger, no one at the station paid any attention to me. Okay, strangers ignoring me might be plausible. But why were the police ignoring me too? I glanced at a reflective surface nearby and saw... nothing. No reflection. I froze, then looked down and noticed something even weirder. My feet were bare. Logically, they should be scraped and bleeding from running on the pavement. But instead of cuts, I felt a searing, burning pain. Am I a ghost? Can no one see me because I'm already dead? Was I never really a vegetable? Was I dead all along? I collapsed onto the ground, feeling utterly lost. Thinking back, my time as a "vegetable" did feel a lot like being dead. Wait! Then how could that woman touch me? When I was lying in bed, that woman could see me. The first day she came into my room, she touched my hand and face, even tucked me in. At the time, I'd mentally cursed her hypocrisy. 6. I sat on the ground, thinking for a long time. I decided to go back. If no one else could help me, I'd have to get revenge myself. I couldn't find my daughter, but since her body wasn't in the house, maybe she was safe for now. I had to kill that woman quickly. She had cursed my child; clearly, she had a vendetta against my whole family. I don't know why she spared me, but once she's dead, my daughter will be safe, and my family will be avenged. I went back home, grabbed a kitchen knife from the drawer, and hid it under the covers. Since no one else could see me, I figured I'd just confront her directly. I lay back down on the bed, waiting for the woman to return. Click. She was back. Same routine: cook, watch TV. Then she opened the door to my room. She started her daily cursing ritual. I silently retorted in my head: You murderer, tomorrow you won't have the chance to curse anyone. Finally, the woman got ready for bed. Hearing her slow, even breathing, I carefully reached under the covers for the knife. Just as I opened my eyes, ready to strike, I saw her lying beside me, eyes wide open, calmly watching me. My heart jumped, but I didn't hesitate. I swung the knife. She rolled sideways, dodging the blow, then kicked me hard, snatching the knife from my hand. I failed. All that time lying helpless in bed had ruined my reflexes. Defeated, I slumped to the floor, bracing for death. But surprisingly, the woman didn't kill me. She found a rope and tied me up. I couldn't break free. I resigned myself to my fate. "Who are you?" I asked her. "I am you. You are me. But... not entirely me." I didn't understand. This woman was crazy. "Why did you kill my family?" I demanded. "Because they deserved to die." Rage choked me, leaving me speechless. The woman fell silent too, just staring blankly in my direction. Being watched by someone who looked exactly like me was deeply unsettling. But I couldn't help studying her. I noticed that although she looked like me, she seemed older, exhausted. There were fine lines around her eyes, her skin was sallow, and even her hair seemed dull, almost grayish. I could never let myself look like that. Before the accident, I loved skincare and dressing up. When I was out with my daughter, people often thought I was her older sister. How dare this woman say she was me

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