Even so, I ignored them and headed toward my car. But just as I reached for the door, a rotten egg came flying straight at me.
“Crazy woman! Why don’t you just die?” a man shouted. “It’s bad enough you’re insane, but you’ve dragged other people down with you. Look at yourself. No wonder Mr. Hancock didn’t want you. Serves you right, your daughter’s dead!”
I looked up and saw five or six people who were former hostages Max had rescued, standing by my car, joined by their relatives. They pelted me with rotten vegetables and eggs, shouting over one another.
“Mr. Hancock saved our lives! How could you report someone like him? You’re not even human!”
“You’re just a housewife. Without him supporting you, you wouldn’t be living in comfort at all.”
The eggs hurt when they hit, but nothing hurt as much as my heart. Their curses filled the air, and the bystanders watched with twisted amusement.
Then, through the crowd, Max emerged, holding Vania’s hand. He looked down at me from above, his voice sharp and cold. “Shannon, if you apologize to us here and now, withdraw your complaint, and admit you tried to frame me and Vania. I promise I’ll consider not divorcing you.”