His voice shook slightly,
"Don’t you want Nancy to have a chance at a healthy life?"
At that moment, John seemed utterly foreign to me.
Maybe he was always manipulative, but he’d never had to use it on me before.
Now, he was forcing me into humiliating submission just for an apology.
Why? He didn't even love me.
I stood firm, refusing to apologize to my abuser.
What's the justice in forcing a victim to apologize to their abuser?
John’s face turned pale, his body shook slightly—he knew he was losing me.
But his pride wouldn’t let him admit his mistake.
"Do it," he ordered.
Following his command, I was forced to my knees, crushing the last shred of naive hope I had.
Suddenly, John's phone rang. He answered, and his breath caught.
His assistant hesitated on the line,
"...Mr. Garcia, Miss Davis’s family has passed away one after another from HPV complications, just a week after you left the country."
John’s grip tightened, "What did you say?!"
The assistant, trembling, added,
"But don’t worry, the only dose was used on Nancy, and she’s not in danger for now."
After hanging up, John barely dared to look at me, his voice hoarse,
"Emily, I...I really didn’t know."