Two months later, I heard he’d sold his car to cover debts. Vanessa, now visibly pregnant, was photographed in tears outside the bank after their joint account was drained. One evening, I received an email from him.
Lydia,
I know you’re angry. I deserve that. But please, think about what you’re doing.
—C. I read it twice, then deleted it. Compassion had nothing to do with this.
Consequences did. A few weeks later, I heard a knock at the villa door. When I opened it, I found Charles standing there, disheveled and pale.
He looked nothing like the confident man I’d once married. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair graying faster than I remembered. “Please,” he said hoarsely.
“I need help.”Continue reading…
