After My Heart Died, the Godfather Begged at My Feet FULL

Three blocks from urgent care, my husband made a U-turn. His mistress had called. She was hungover. My hand was covered in blisters. Apparently, I could wait. He took the medicine I’d packed for him up to her apartment—and left me locked in the car, baking in the sun. I used to leave a light on, no matter how late he came home. Now my vision was fading, and the door wouldn’t open. He said ten minutes. I’d already waited eight years.