Finally Choosing My Passion Over the Man I LovedChapter 1
Zelene's POV
On the fifteenth day of the New Year, my husband, Alger Doyle, came rushing home, all excited, saying he wanted to take me somewhere.
I thought to myself—after all these years, he still wants to surprise me?
But the last place I expected him to take me was the police station.
Before I could even react, he grabbed my hand and pulled me inside. The next thing I knew, cold metal snapped around my wrists—handcuffs.
Alger looked the officers straight in the eye and said with conviction, “She’s the one who set the fire in the mountains yesterday.” Then, he pulled out a video as proof.
I stared at the screen in shock. The person in the footage had my face—but the body shape was completely different from mine.
Just as I opened my mouth to refute it, Alger leaned down and whispered, “Babe, do this for Carly, please. She’s not in good health. She won’t survive in here.” His voice was calm, almost reassuring. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything at home.”
Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.
——
My mind went blank. I had never, not in my worst nightmares, imagined that the man I had been married to for years would send me to prison… for another woman.
“Alger! Don’t go! Explain this to me!”
I lunged forward, desperate to grab him, to demand answers, but the officers held me back. All I could do was watch as he walked away.
That night—the night families were supposed to be together, celebrating the new year—I sat alone in a cold detention cell.
I had only been wearing a thin sweater when we left the house. Now, the freezing air seeped into my bones, making me shiver uncontrollably. My teeth chattered, and my fingers were numb.
I could no longer stand the cold. Seeing others covered with blankets, I called the police and asked, “I’m freezing. Can I get a blanket?”
But the officer barely glanced at me. “Blankets have to be brought in by family members. If you want one, you’ll have to call someone to send it.”
I was so cold that I had no choice. I asked for a phone and dialed Alger’s number. It rang and rang but there was no answer.
The officer, growing impatient, tapped his foot. Seeing it, I took a deep breath and called again. This time, someone picked up. But the voice on the other end wasn’t Alger’s. It was hers—Carly Gill.
She said “Hello?” a few times, her tone light, almost amused.