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“No, they didn’t!” I yell, even though it’s not the best idea when he’s this upset. “Pull over. Pull over and we’ll talk.”
“When we gethome, we’ll talk.”
“That’s not my home,” I whisper, and he grimaces. “You lied. You lied about so much.Why?”
“Because I love you,” he says. “I love you, and we’re meant to be together. So, you do what it takes whenever you love someone that much.”
Rain pelts the windshield, and the cars grow blurry.
“Slow down,” I beg. “Please,please, before you run someone off the road.”
He chuckles. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” he mutters, and I frown. “I did it with you. And everything turned out fine.”
But he slows down, and I can breathe again.
Wait…
“You didwhatwith me?” I hiss. “What do you mean, youdid it with me?”
“They didn’t treat you right,” he explains. “You were in a big fight with them, and you were crying. I knew they would slip up one day, and I just had to wait. So, I followed you.”
“What are you talking about?” I demand as tears fill my eyes.
“I didn’t mean for you to fall into the ditch. I wanted to talk to you, but you slammed on your brakes, and it just happened,” he says, as I fight back tears. “But I got you to the hospital and it was fine! And you didn’t remember anything, so we had a fresh start.”
I shake with rage and despair.
“You caused the accident?” I whisper.
“Babe, I swear I didn’t mean to,” he says, taking his eyes off the road and turning to me. “I promise. I just wanted to be there for you.”
“Watch out!” I shriek, as headlights flash at us. He drifts in and out of the lane and I close my eyes, waiting for an inevitable impact.
I’m going to die.
He continues talking, and I’m forced to listen to his nightmarish confession as the truck swerves with the wind and rain.
“I loved working in the garden with you, and they couldn’t handle that,” he continues. “You were the only one who listened to me. Who understood me. The best part of my day was coming to work and seeing you…babe, they didn’t deserve you.”
He’s starts to cry, and I panic.
“Please, just pull over,please, Michael.”
He takes an exit, finally driving off the freeway and to a dimly lit gas station.
I have no idea where we are.
I don’t even have my phone; I left it in my bedroom at theInn.
At my home.
“They fired me,” he continues, as he places the truck in park. “They fired me because they couldn’t handle what we have.”
I don’t remember any of it, and it makes this so much worse.
He’s the reason I don’t have my memories.
I scream into my hands, letting out my frustrations, and he reaches out a hand to rub my back. I jerk at his touch and tug at the door handle.
