In the end, I was framed as a cold-blooded killer and I died a brutal death with no justice.
I kept my head down as I processed everything silently. Arnold noticed my action, so he walked over and squatted in front of me.
“Are you mad at me? You look upset," he asked. He talked in a soft nice voice, like he was talking to a child.
As I saw the same warm appearance on his face that I had seen for ten years, I felt an overwhelming sense of despair.
After I married him, I handed the company over to Arnold and settled into a life of ease and comfort.
Whether it was work or our home life, he always took care of everything. I never had to worry about a thing.
So why today, of all days, did he ask me to take the car in? Why did such a bizarre, catastrophic thing happen the one time I did? Was it just a coincidence … or something more?
I swallowed my doubts and finally spoke, “I’m not mad. I just don’t feel well. Maybe I’ll reschedule the appointment for the car maintenance?”
Without missing a beat, Arnold pressed a hand to my forehead with a concerned look on his face. He asked, “You don’t look so good. Do you want me to take you to the hospital?”