When Hillary's plane supposedly crashed, I stayed by his side day and night and pulled him back from despair. When he finally stepped out of the darkness, the first thing he did was ask me to marry him.
He had always been perfect—warming the bed for me when I was cold, leaving a cup of hot milk on the nightstand; when I miscarried he shouldered the world and held me close, whispering, "It's okay. You being here is enough."
I believed we'd finally found happiness. I believed his tenderness. Now I know it was all a carefully staged performance.
"Tristan, we are done. You will pay for what you have done to me..." My voice was hoarse, trembling, yet steady.
I forced the lawyer to gather evidence within a month while racing between court and hospital.
My brother's surgery had gone smoothly, but the ambulance accident left him in the ICU for days. I stayed until they moved him to a regular ward, but he still didn't wake up. At his bedside, I gripped his hand with both of mine as if holding on to some small comfort.
Everything that had happened made me realize how tightly my mother and brother had sheltered me. . Now that Mom was gone. I had to be his pillar—I could not afford to break.