Robert locked himself in my room, refusing to eat or drink, and I was forced to stay by his side.
I watched him go crazy in the room, kneeling on the floor, saying "I'm sorry" over and over.
But what was the point of saying sorry?
Could it bring my life and my child's life back?
Could it erase the humiliation I suffered?
I suddenly found it all so laughable.
When I was alive, he hated me with all his heart, but now that I was gone, he acted as if he cared deeply.
He had the chance to save me.
What was he doing instead?
Oh, he was off watching the sea with Esther.
Robert's jaw was covered in stubble, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
He kept touching our photo, his fingers lingering over it as if grasping onto some lost memory.
An eighteen-year-old girl, so bright and beaut
