My husband drugged me every night “so I could study better,” but one night I pretended to swallow the pill and lay motionless. He thought I was asleep. At 2:47 AM, he walked in wearing gloves, holding a camera and a black notebook. He didn’t touch me with love. He lifted my eyelid and whispered, “Her memory still hasn’t returned.”
Mark froze in front of the screen. For the first time since I’d known him, he didn’t look like a doctor, a husband, or a man who owned everything. He looked like a child caught with blood on his hands. “Turn that off,” Eleanor said. Her voice no longer sounded elegant. It sounded old. Scared….
