Was Debbii truly so important to him? She was the one who had harmed my mom, and yet he covered up for her, destroying everything else in the process.
My tears fell one after another onto his hand, scalding enough to make him tremble.
For an instant, pain flickered in his eyes. He even reached out, wiping my tears with slow tenderness.
But his voice stayed cold, unyielding.
“Hedy, Debbii grew up with me. I know her. She just made a mistake. Even if she hadn’t given your mom the wrong medicine, there was no guarantee your mom could have survived the surgery. Just think of it as an accident. Wouldn’t that be better?”
He leaned closer, coaxing softly. “You frightened her with those police reports. You made her cry. If I hadn’t locked your brother away first, she would’ve broken down. Don’t be stubborn, Hedy. Sign the letter of forgiveness. Then, everything will go back to the way it was.”
His gaze softened as he spoke, but my heart only grew colder the more I looked at him.
No. It would never go back. Even if I signed, nothing would ever be the same.
Bryson was no longer the man I had married. To me, he was now a demon.
In our five years of marriage, he had never treated me this way.
Before Debbii returned to the country, he had indulged me in everything.
I had always believed I’d found my lifelong partner.
But now, I saw clearly—he wasn’t my husband. He was hers.
My silence dragged on, and irritation crept into his features.
“Hedy, every minute you waste here, your brother suffers another minute. Or would you rather I decide for you?”
As he said this, a trace of threat appeared on his face.
Before I could answer, he dragged me into my mom’s hospital room.
The next second, he ripped the oxygen tube from her face!
At once, medical staff rushed inside.
I lunged forward, but Bryson blocked me with an arm.
“Sign the letter, and she’ll be fine,” he demanded.
I looked back at him in horror.
“You have ten seconds.”
With a blank expression on his face, his voice dropped to a countdown.
“Ten.”
Suddenly, a stranger yanked my mom off the bed.
“Nine.”
They tore the oxygen mask away, leaving her gasping in agony.
“Eight.”
Dragged across the floor, her body knocked against the doorway, bruises blooming on her fragile skin.
Yet, Bryson remained unmoved, still expressionlessly counting down.
As the count neared its end, Mom’s body convulsed, struggling for air.