My husband drugged me every night “so I could study better,” but one night I faked swallowing the pill and remained completely motionless. He believed I was asleep. At 2:47 AM, he walked in wearing gloves, carrying a camera and a black notebook. He didn’t touch me with love. He lifted my eyelid and whispered: “The memory still hasn’t returned.”
Morris froze in front of the monitor. For the first time since I had known him, he didn’t look like a reputable doctor, or a devoted husband, or a man in total control of his world. He looked like a panicked boy caught with blood on his hands. “Turn that thing off,” Eleanor snapped. Her…
