Days passed. Anna spoke to him constantly — silly anecdotes, hospital gossip, even sarcastic commentary about the cafeteria food. She read stories, whispered encouragement, shared pieces of herself. And slowly, something shifted.
One evening, while cleaning his arm, she felt it: the faintest grip around her wrist. Her breath caught. Could it be?
The next day, it happened again. Tests confirmed what everyone dared not hope — increased brain activity. He was waking up.
Then came the day Anna had been waiting for. As she washed his face, Grant’s hand gripped hers — firmly this time. His eyelids fluttered. Slowly, painfully, he opened his eyes. Blue eyes, dazed, alive. “Who… are you?” he rasped.
Recovery was long, but remarkable. Step by step, Grant relearned speech, walking, eating. And through it all, Anna stayed. Her voice, her presence, became his anchor. His smiles returned, genuine and bright.
Eventually, Grant revealed a shocking truth: his crash wasn’t an accident. Someone had tampered with his car — his own half-brother, Nathan, scheming for control of the empire. With Anna by his side, he confronted Nathan. Police arrested him on the spot. Justice was served.
Through the ordeal, something deeper grew. In the quiet moments, under hospital lights and golden sunsets, Grant realized he owed more than his life to Anna. He owed his heart.
One evening, in the Carter estate gardens, he knelt before her, velvet box in hand. “I love you, Anna,” he said. “You didn’t just heal me. You changed me. Will you marry me?”
Tears glimmered in her eyes. “Yes. Of course, yes.”
Months later, surrounded by blooming white roses and loved ones, Anna and Grant exchanged vows. Not as billionaire and nurse, but as two souls who had found light in the darkest place imaginable.
Sometimes, miracles aren’t found in hospitals or prayers. Sometimes, they’re found in people — in voices, in hands, in unwavering care. And sometimes, love alone is the medicine that can heal the deepest wounds.
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