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My hands, once surgeons' hands, now trembled balancing champagne glasses at an elite medical summit. My wife, Sarah, lay in a coma, kept alive by machines. My daughter, Lily, traumatized, diagnosed with severe autism, was a ghost in our home. My career, my reputation, my life – all shattered by a malpractice suit that wasn't my fault, and an amusement park incident that left me with broken ribs and my family broken beyond repair. I poured every last cent, every ounce of my being, into their care, working menial jobs just to survive. Then, a voice announced a speaker on stage: "Dr. Sarah Miller, presenting 'New Advances in Brainstem Injury Repair'..." The name, the topic, the face I saw under the spotlight, hit me like a physical blow. It was Sarah. My Sarah. Confident, brilliant, and clearly not comatose. The champagne tray slipped. Crash. Security grabbed me, but I didn't care. "She's my wife! Sarah! She should be in the ICU right now! She's in a coma!" Her eyes, for a split second, flickered with panic before settling into cold composure. The man next to her, Andrew Sterling, CEO of Sterling Medical Group, stepped forward, handing me a business card, his face full of contempt. Whispers of their shared past, of her being his company's chief expert, swirled around me, twisting the knife. Was our entire nine-year marriage a lie? The applause for the brilliant Dr. Miller mocked my agony, making me wonder if I had been the biggest fool of all.