I, David Miller—the so-called good husband who once cherished his wife above all else—was now demanding divorce from a woman devastated by miscarriage, and even calling the psychiatric hospital to have her locked up.
Mr. Green snatched the phone from my hand.
Mrs. Green stomped on it furiously until the screen shattered into pieces.
Only then did she stop, tears burning in her eyes.
“David, are you even human? Rachel Green carried your child for ten months—do you have any idea what she endured? The miscarriage wasn’t all her fault. As her husband, at least eighty percent of the responsibility is yours!”
“If you hadn’t dragged Rachel to the Rocky Mountains, would she have slipped and miscarried?”
“She’s traumatized, she lost her memory, she mistook Mark Johnson for you. Yes, it was wrong of her—but think about it, she’s sick, she didn’t do it on purpose.”
“Couldn’t you show her a little compassion? A little understanding?”
“You heartless bastard, I should never have let my daughter marry you!”
After Rachel’s parents finished scolding me, my father also shouted at me, saying I shouldn’t fight over Rachel with Mark.
Everyone present knew Rachel had mistaken Mark for her husband.