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My husband is perfect…

At least, that’s what everyone believes.

Behind closed doors?

He’s someone else entirely.

He controls what I say.

What I do.

Who I am.

And if I step out of line…

He makes sure I regret it.

I knew I had to escape.

So one night, in the car, my heart pounding… I said it:

“I want a divorce.”

That’s when everything spiralled.

He snapped.

The car swerved.

A scream.

Impact.

Darkness.

When I opened my eyes…

I was in handcuffs.

Charged with murder.

But here’s the thing—

I don’t remember hitting anyone.

I don’t remember getting out of the car.

And my husband?

He’s gone.

So tell me…

Who was the girl we hit…

And why am I the one paying for it?