Vince gently lifted Jessica into the car and climbed into the driver’s seat, his eyes filled with concern as he looked at her—she seemed utterly drained, all the life beaten out of her.
“Do you want to go to the hospital and get an examination?” he asked quietly.
She nodded, her movements weak. Picking up her phone with trembling fingers, she typed out a message: “It’s the only way I can get a divorce.”
She’d chosen to call Vince, not Herbert, because she feared Herbert would lose control—his anger was even more dangerous.
After all, Vince had only just met her, yet he’d stabbed Timothy out of sheer fury, and had nearly gone for him a second time. If even Vince had reacted that way, what would Herbert have done?
Vince didn’t say another word, just started the engine and drove her to the hospital.
Meanwhile, Timothy’s shirt was already soaked with blood oozing from his abdomen. He’d managed to dress himself, but his once-white shirt was now stained crimson.
Throwing on a coat, he left Jessica’s apartment. Last night, his driver had dropped him off, but now he was alone, forced to flag down a cab to the hospital.
The wound was too deep; he’d need stitches.
At the ER, the doctor glanced at the injury and asked, “Was this from a knife? Did someone stab you?”
Timothy nodded. “Yes.”
“Do you want me to call the police?”
“No, that’s not necessary.”
Four stitches later, the wound was bandaged. Timothy left the hospital and considered calling Vince. He doubted Vince would answer now, but he needed to explain things to Jessica.
The events of the previous night replayed in his mind. He shut his eyes, feeling like he was losing his grip on reality.
He called his assistant, Allen, and asked him to pick him up. While waiting outside the hospital, he lit a cigarette. Everything had spiraled out of control. He realized Jessica probably wouldn’t come back this time.
Mr. Smith tried calling Jessica.
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