The Husband's Verdict

d everythin

ams, all to work for her father' s firm, playing the per

k an ornate wooden box on her vanity, a box

ere was no

C procedure, the other for cremation. My blood ran

as a crazed stalker, the man I' d served

it was the ultimate foreplay, according to a recording I later heard. Her family dismis

ively, as I thrashed in a cold lake, struggling to breathe

laced by a chilling void. It wasn't about anger or sadness anymo

o give them the "legacy" they truly deserved, on the biggest sta