He told me the truck driver had fled and urged me to let it go, saying he didn't want me to keep reliving such a painful memory.
In my confusion, I agreed and didn't press for details.
But now, as I watched them all singing the same tune, I couldn't help but find it amusing.
"Maybe I misheard," I said, feigning frustration. "But every time I think about losing my leg in that accident, I can't help feeling bitter."
Fiona said, "Chloe, Wyatt was driving the car at the time, and it was speeding. If you keep digging into this, he might be held responsible, too. Maybe it's best to just let it go and not dwell on it."
"Exactly, Chloe," my mother chimed in. "You must have heard it wrong. That truck driver had it tough, too. Maybe he panicked and ran off then."
It was just a leg.
I touched where my right leg used to be and wisely held my tongue.
But that night, Fiona didn't look too well.
After Wyatt dropped me off at home, he said he had to work late due to an urgent matter at the office and told me to get some rest. He then hurriedly drove off.
The moment he left, I called a taxi and followed him.
As expected, he headed straight for Fiona's dance studio.