Celebrating My Freedom on Their Wedding Day But He Wont Let Me GoChapter 1
My husband's foster sister was a walking disaster.
Every time she wreaked havoc, my husband brushed it off with the same tired excuse: "She's still a child."
When she saw that I worked as a school doctor, she clamored to be my assistant. Reluctantly, I agreed.
On her very first day, the chaos began.
A student came in with indigestion. I instructed her to fetch digestive aids; instead, she handed the poor child potent laxatives.
When caught, she blinked up at me with wide, innocent eyes.
"Well, if their stomach is emptied out completely, isn't that digestion?"
Later, with exams approaching, a stressed student sought help for insomnia. She gave them heavy-duty sleeping pills. The student slept until noon the next day, missing the exam entirely.
I pleaded with my husband to transfer her elsewhere.
He refused, shielding her as always.
"She's just a kid, Katherine. Be patient. Teach her, and she'll learn."
Then came Christmas.
She swapped the school's prepared mushroom soup ingredients for a batch of wild, unidentified mushrooms she'd found.
Luckily, I caught it in time. I dumped the soup before it could be served, averting a mass poisoning.
But word of her incompetence spread. Students and staff mocked her, whispering whenever she passed.
Unable to handle the gossip, the fragile "child" left a suicide note for my husband and jumped off a building.
My husband, Dominic Henson, read the note in silence. He handled her funeral without shedding a tear or speaking a word.
I thought he was grieving in his own way.
I was wrong.
On the seventh day after her death—the day her spirit was said to return—he tied me to a chair.
He cooked a pot of mushroom soup large enough for ten people and forced it down my throat.
He didn't stop until my stomach ruptured.
I was stuffed to death, drowning in agony.
Dominic cradled her urn in one arm and downed a bottle of poison with the other.
"Mushrooms don't kill people," he sneered, his eyes cold and dead. "If you hadn't been so nosy, Caroline wouldn't have died."
He stroked the urn. "She was pregnant with my child. My flesh and blood. Because of you, I have nothing left. I'm going down there to find her."
My vision blackened. Consciousness slipped away. His low, hateful murmur was the last thing I heard.