Since Fiona had fallen in the bathroom a year ago, her mobility had been compromised.
I usually wouldn't let her go out alone, yet David thought it was perfectly fine to send her out in such terrible weather for his little fling.
The image of Fiona clutching that package tightly as she lay dying, terrified of disappointing David, made my eyes sting with tears.
David didn't even glance at the divorce papers, his irritation boiling over as he shouted, "Ada, what's your problem? You know my dad would never let us divorce. Do you really think this is amusing?
"Where's your mother? She needs to apologize to Freya, and then we can put this whole thing behind us."
"Apologize?" I let out a bitter laugh. "For what? What did she do wrong? Why should she apologize to your mistress? If it weren't for you, my mom wouldn't have..."
"Enough!" David interrupted, his brow furrowing. "This is all your mom's fault for taking her sweet time. Freya's lying in a hospital bed, and you still have the nerve to make a scene.
"Don't even mention divorce! You know how our marriage came about. Do you really think I'd believe you'd give up the title of Mrs. Federer that easily?"