With trembling hands, I zoomed in on the video. It looked like it had been secretly recorded some time ago. The quality was grainy, but I instantly recognized the man entangled with Fiona. It was my newlywed husband, Wyatt Brooks.
"Wyatt, when are you going to tell her about us?" Fiona asked tearfully, her voice filled with emotion.
Wyatt replied with a date. The very day I had my car accident.
"But Wyatt, I don't want Chloe to win that award again. You know I love dancing more than she does, and I'm more talented..."
"Still calling me Wyatt?"
"Honey, please help me," she said, leaning closer to him.
"That depends on how you perform tonight. If you impress me, I'll make sure Chloe drops out of the competition."
I couldn't hold it in any longer. I collapsed by the bed, violently retching, overwhelmed with disgust.
As I reached down to touch my severed right leg, it felt like I was back to that fateful day six months ago.
Six months ago, the night before the national dance competition, Wyatt came to pick me up for a date.
Just before we left, Fiona looked at me with barely contained excitement. "Chloe, make the most of tonight."