In one of the nation’s largest hospitals, I lay in a private room. You might wonder how you ended up here. It isn’t a particularly good or exciting story.

I was involved in a car accident On the first day of high school. I was ecstatic. The night before, I barely slept. I have to tell you I was homeschooled before this.

I am the youngest son of one of the country’s wealthiest families. I have two older sisters and an older brother, but none of them were homeschooled because they were not Grandpa’s favourites. As a member of one of the wealthiest families, death threats and kidnapping threats were common.

As a result, we have 24-hour security, and despite this, I was the only one kidnapped. Fortunately, I was too young to remember it, but the damage had already been done. After my kidnapping, Grandpa forbade me from leaving the house. To be fair, our home is quite large compared to the houses I’ve seen on television.

So, for the past six years, I’ve been homeschooled and have never been allowed to leave the confines of the house. Grandpa died two months ago. My father became the head of the house after he died, and he inherited everything. My father, who I only see a few times a year, didn’t care if I was homeschooled or went to boarding school.

My father informed me a month later that I had to go to the country’s most prestigious high school. I was ecstatic at the prospect of getting out of the house that had turned into my prison.

As the month progressed, I made plans for my first day of school. Then came the big day. They gave me a personal driver and a car from the family’s collection to use for my personal needs, so I dressed for school and went to the house’s front door, which I had never passed through before. I made it through and settled into the backseat of the car.

The car began to move, and we were soon on our way to my school. While we were waiting at the lights, a truck came speeding down the road and crashed into the back of our car. That’s how I ended up here.

When I first opened my eyes, I thought my first day of school had been ruined, but then my father entered the room.

I said, “Hello, father,” but he completely ignored me.

He is followed into the room by a doctor in his robe and my father’s secretary.

“Father,” I say once more, but everyone simply ignores me.

“I apologise, sir.” As he bows in front of father, the secretary says.

What exactly is going on? Why aren’t they listening to me? My arm does not move when I try to move it. My body does not move when I try to move, but my vision does. I can see everything around me, but my body appears to be motionless. I turn my head, but I can’t get my vision to move away from where my head is. The only way I can see is as if I were moving my head. They don’t seem to notice my head moving, so only my vision is moving.

Do you think I’m in a coma?

The secretary is slapped by father. “Dammit, it was only supposed to be a minor accident.”

“I apologise, sir,” the secretary replied.

Father looks at the doctor instead of the secretary. “How is he doing?” He asks.

“To put it simply, he is dead in every sense of the word; only the machines keep him alive.” The doctor responded.

“Well, if you value your job and your life, you’ll keep him alive,” Father explained. “I can’t afford for him to die right now.”

“Yes, Sir.” The threat has shaken the doctor’s response.

That was the beginning of my stay in the hospital.

Mother entered the room shortly after father had left. Unlike my father, who I only see now and then, my mother was someone I saw almost every day.

My biological mother died shortly after giving birth to me, so she is more of a stepmother to me.

Following her death, Father brought home a 16-year-old girl who was more of a prisoner than a guest and 2 years later married her. She later told me she was the sole heir to her family’s large business, and that father had married her so that he could use her inheritance to take over the entire company.

She was merely a wife on paper, and neither of them had spent over 30 minutes in each other’s presence. She was still young and alone when she was brought to our home, so she took me under her wing, and as a result, we became each other’s solace.

She is now the closest person in my life, and I am proud to call her my mother.

“Sam!, Sam!!” As she hurries through the door to my bed, she cries.

Her face was red with weeping, and her clothing was dishevelled. For as long as I can remember, I’ve known her and have never seen her in this state.

“My baby……” She clutches my hand and rests her head on it, weeping.

“I have the doctor, my lady.” Mother’s secretary enters the room, accompanied by the same doctor as before.

Mother wipes away her tears and rises. Her entire demeanour has changed. She was a normal lady grieving over her son a minute before, but now she is a ferocious woman who can make anyone do whatever she wants. You might have mistaken her for someone else if it weren’t for her ruined makeup and dishevelled clothes.

“Doctor, can you tell me what can be done to help him?” In a businesslike tone, she inquires.

He responds, “My lady, there is nothing we can do but wait.”

“Perhaps if you are unable to help, we can transport him to the United States or abroad where there may be hope.” She says.

“Please accept my apologies, but they would respond in the same way,” he says.

“Hmm,” she moves her gaze away from him and toward me.

“I’ll take my leave.” As he walks out of the room, the doctor says.

“Get Sam’s file and send it to the best hospitals in the world,” mum says. “I want to know if there is anything they can do.”

The secretary responds, “Yes, my lady,” before exiting the room.

Mother takes a seat by the bed.

“Please come back to me,” she pleads as she strokes my cheek.

Tears stream down her cheeks. She says, “You promised you’d never leave me.”