The Unwanted Wife's Return (Ex-Husband Wants Me Back) novel Chapter 339

Her Lawyer Arrives 

MARY’S POV: 

The person who paid for it. 

I thought about Alistair and his voice on the speaker. About the way he had said the police have agreed to let you stay in the cell over the weekend. 

Marl didn’t say the name. He didn’t have to. 

“As your attorney,” he continued, “I will be filing charges for false imprisonment, assault by proxy, and deliberate endangerment. I will be naming every officer involved. And I will be suing this department into bankruptcy.” 

Officer Miller’s face went from pale to gray. “You can’t—” 

“I can. And I will.” Marl turned back to me, his expression softening. “Can you walk?” 

I nodded. I wasn’t sure if it was true, but I nodded anyway. 

He offered me his arm. I took it, my fingers curling around his forearm, and he led me out of the cell. 

We walked past the gang members, who had pressed themselves into the corners, their eyes wide, their mouths shut. We walked past Officer Miller, who stood frozen in the doorway, his keys still in his hand. We walked down the narrow hallway, past other cells, past a desk where another officer sat with his mouth open, past the front entrance and into the cold night air. 

The parking lot was mostly empty. A single black car sat idling near the curb, its engine running, its headlights cutting through the darkness. 

Marl opened the passenger door for me. I climbed inside, the leather seat cold against my legs, his coat still wrapped around my shoulders. He closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. 

As he slid behind the wheel, I finally let myself tremble. 

The shaking started in my hands, then spread to my arms, then to my chest, then to my entire body. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t control it. It was as if every muscle I had been holding tight for the past hour had decided to let go all at once. 

I pressed my hands together, trying to still them, but they wouldn’t stop. 

Marl didn’t say anything. He didn’t tell me to calm down. He didn’t ask me what was wrong. He just sat there, his hands on the steering wheel, his eyes on the road ahead, giving me the space I needed to fall apart. 

After a long moment, I felt something brush against my hand. 

I looked down. He had reached across the console and placed his hand over mine, he was not holding my hands or gripping anything. 

“Take your time,” he said. 

I didn’t know why, but that was what broke me. 

The tears came then and Marl didn’t flinch. He didn’t pull away. He just sat there, his hand on mine, and waited. 

I don’t know how long I cried. Long enough for the windows to fog up. Long enough for my throat to go raw. Long enough for the shaking to finally, finally stop. 

When I was done, I wiped my face with the back of my hand and looked at him. 

“I’m sorry,” I said. My voice was hoarse. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

“They were going to– ” I stopped. I couldn’t finish the sentence. 

“I know.” His jaw tightened. “And they’re going to pay for it. Every single one of them.” 

I wanted to believe him. But I had spent seven years learning that justice was not something that happened to people like me. 

He put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking lot. 

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