I nodded absently, keeping my head down. My whole body was trembling, but not from grief. Not from exhaustion. From rage. This wasn’t over. Not even close.
—
After leaving the hospital, I became a woman on a mission. I started digging—phone records, surveillance footage, anything to prove what I knew.
But Marco had covered his tracks.
The security footage? Gone.
Police reports? Altered.
The car? Never found.
It was like the accident never happened.
Frustration clawed at me. Marco had money, power, influence. He could erase evidence with a snap of his fingers. But I wouldn’t stop.
And if I couldn’t prove the accident… I’d destroy my marriage.
The moment I got the divorce papers, I felt like I could breathe again.
I wasn’t naïve. I knew Marco wouldn’t take this lightly, so I kept it a secret.
For weeks, I planned my exit—meeting with a lawyer, securing a place to stay, preparing for the storm.
Then one evening, Marco found the divorce papers.
His face was thunderous as he stormed in, holding the crumpled documents.
“What the hell is this?” His voice was dangerously low.
I stood my ground. “Exactly what it looks like. I’m leaving you.”
His jaw clenched. “No, you’re not.”
I crossed my arms. “Yes, I am.”