She took my pregnant wife and child from me.
My life. My everything.
An accident? How can stealing everything from someone be reduced to something as simple as an accident?
She doesn’t deserve to live, but I let her live so I’d have something to loathe.
My insurmountable anger is the only thing keeping me from getting rid of her.
I have no one else to blame, to rage at, or anything worth breathing for again.
The silent whisper—the urge to end her—pushes me closer to the edge every day.
