Chapter 1
Over eight years of marriage, I bore him two children.
That day, stuck in a traffic jam on the highway, I got nauseous and threw up.
He was disgusted, so he slammed on the brakes and pulled into the emergency lane.
"Get out. Don't dirty my car," David said.
Outside, heavy rain came down, and semis roared past.
I begged him, shaking, and he shoved me out of the car anyway.
With shaking hands, I took out my phone, ready to call the police.
Before I could dial, an unknown number popped up on the screen.
"Is this the family of David Rowe? Your husband's car went off a cliff on the highway," the caller said.
I gripped my phone, staring into the thick fog ahead.
*****
I was Emily Hughes, and I had been married for eight years.
I gave David a son and a daughter.
Everyone said I was lucky, that I married for love.
But only I knew what those eight years had actually been like.
Today, on the way back to the city, the highway was jammed bumper to bumper.
I was carsick, and my stomach kept turning over.
"David, I feel sick," I said.
He frowned, shooting me a look of pure disgust.
"Just hold it," he said.
I couldn't hold it, and I threw up on the floor mat.
The sharp, sour smell filled the car right away.
David's expression soured completely.
He jerked the wheel, and the brakes screeched.
He pulled over onto the emergency lane.
"Get out," David snapped.
His voice was cold enough to freeze anyone.
I froze.
"Don't dirty my car," David repeated, his tone icy cold.
Outside, the rain poured down in sheets, huge raindrops drumming loudly on the roof.
Massive trucks thundered past, the spray they kicked up threatening to engulf our tiny sedan.
"David, it's pouring out there. Let me stay in the car," I started.
I never got to finish.
He unbuckled my seatbelt, shoved the door open, and yanked me out of the car.
He shoved me down onto the pavement.
The icy rain instantly soaked me to the bone.
Mud splattered all over my face.
The car door slammed shut.
David didn't even look back at me. He floored it and merged into the traffic.
I lay on the freezing pavement, shaking all over.
I couldn't tell whether it was the cold or the rage.
Eight years of marriage had given him two children.
All because I threw up in his car, he left me out on the highway alone in a downpour.
Shivering, I pulled my phone out of my pocket.
The screen was covered in rainwater, and I had to swipe over and over before it finally unlocked.
I needed to call the police.
I wanted the police to hear exactly how heartless this man was.
I opened the dialer, and my hands shook so badly that I couldn't hit the three numbers.
Just then, an unknown number popped up on my screen.
The ringtone sounded especially jarring out here on the deserted highway.
I hesitated, then hit the answer button.
"Hello?" I said.
My voice shook so badly I could barely get the word out.
On the other end, a calm, official male voice came through.
"Is this Ms. Hughes, the family of David Rowe?" the man asked.
My heart dropped.
"Yes, I am," I replied.
The man said, "This is the state highway patrol, and we're sorry to give you this news.
"Fifteen minutes ago, a white sedan lost control on the mountain road ahead and went over the cliff.
"The driver, David Rowe, died at the scene."
I stood there, frozen, clutching my phone.
Rain streamed down my cheeks, and I couldn't tell if it was rain or tears.
I slowly lifted my head, staring into the depths of the mountains shrouded in thick fog and heavy rain.
He had gone off a cliff?
David was dead?