NO, IT CAN’T BE SO.

I gripped the edge of the counter, my vision swimming. My breath came in short, panicked gasps. The memory had come rushing back like a tidal wave, crashing over me, leaving me drowning in fear.

He wasn’t just driving. He was angry.

I remembered his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched so tightly I thought it might crack. His voice had been low, seething.

“You think I don’t know?” he had said, his eyes never leaving the road.

My stomach twisted. “Know what?” I had asked, my voice trembling.

He had laughed, but there was no humor in it. Just something dark, something cold.

“I saw the messages, Claire.”

I sucked in a breath. Messages? What messages?

“You and James,” he had continued. “My best friend. My wife.”

James. My husband’s childhood friend. The man who had been there for me when my husband had grown distant, working late nights, coming home smelling of perfume that wasn’t mine. But it had never been an affair. Just friendship. Support. Someone who listened.

“I told you—” I had started, but he cut me off with a sharp jerk of the wheel, sending the car veering toward the shoulder before correcting it.

“You lied to me,” he spat. “For how long?”

I remembered gripping the seatbelt, my heart hammering in my chest.

“Please, just slow down.”

But he hadn’t.

And then—

The impact. The screeching tires. The world flipping upside down.

And darkness.

I was back in my kitchen, the knife slipping from my fingers, clattering onto the floor. My hands trembled. The accident—it hadn’t been an accident.

My husband had done it on purpose.

I turned to look at him, standing just a few feet away, watching me.

“Claire?” His voice was careful, cautious.

I forced a smile, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just got a little lightheaded.”

He took a step closer, his eyes scanning me, searching for something. Had he seen the realization on my face? Did he know that I remembered?

I had to act normal. At least until I figured out what to do.

That night, I lay awake, my mind racing. He thought I didn’t remember. I had to keep it that way. If he was capable of driving us off the road in a fit of rage, what else was he capable of?

I needed proof.

The next day, while he was at work, I went to the garage and found his car, the one he had driven that night. My hands shook as I searched. And then—I found it.

His dashcam.

I ran back inside, plugging it into my laptop. My heart pounded as the footage played.

His voice, filled with anger. My pleas for him to slow down. The deliberate jerk of the wheel. The crash.

And then—

The final words before the screen went dark.

“If I can’t have you, no one can.”

A sob caught in my throat. He had tried to kill me.

I had no time to waste. I grabbed my phone, sending the video to James. I didn’t trust the police just yet—if my husband had gone this far, who knew what else he had done?

James called me almost immediately.

“Claire, get out of there. Now.”

But it was too late.

The front door creaked open.

I turned slowly, my breath caught in my chest.

He stood in the doorway, his face unreadable.

“You remember, don’t you?”

I swallowed hard. My fingers tightened around my phone.

“I—”

He stepped forward, tilting his head slightly, watching me like a predator watches its prey.

“Claire,” he said softly. “You know I love you.”

Love? Was this love? The bruises on my heart, the months of isolation, the lies, the accident—was that love?

No.

“I sent the video,” I said, my voice stronger than I felt. “To James. He knows. If anything happens to me, he’ll go to the police.”

His face darkened.

For a moment, I thought he would lunge at me. But then, something in his expression shifted—resignation? Defeat? Or was it just another trick?

The sound of sirens filled the air, growing louder.

I had called them, too. Sent them the video. Just in case.

His jaw clenched. “You don’t understand—”

“I do,” I said, cutting him off. “And I’m done.”

The police stormed in before he could say another word.

A few months later, I stood outside the courthouse, feeling the sun on my face.

He had pleaded guilty. The evidence was undeniable.

James stood beside me. “You okay?”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“For the first time in a long time… I think I am.”

I had spent so much time thinking I was crazy, second-guessing myself, believing the lies I was fed. But the truth had been there all along, waiting to be remembered.

Waiting to set me free.

And now, I was free.

Sometimes, the people we trust the most are the ones who hurt us the worst. But no matter how lost you feel, no matter how deep the darkness seems—truth and courage will always lead you to the light.

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