My Amnesia Was Your Only Mercy
Language: en
The day I found a used, ultra-thin wrapper—a condom—stuffed between the passenger seat and the console of Damon’s custom Range Rover was the tenth anniversary of our wedding. In the ensuing fight, I slammed the door and ran, only to be hit by a runaway semi-truck. Our seven-month-old child was torn from my body, seven months too soon. Crushed. Just... gone. Damon Cole wept outside the operating room, swearing that he would never betray me again. He blocked the mistress, Chelsea Quinn, on every platform and started sending me his itinerary daily. My friends called me a warrior, praising me…