He'd put me through so much-broke me until I barely recognized my reflection in the mirror. Six years he lied about being married. Six years of my life stolen-wasted from my own stupidity. But I healed-or at least I thought I had.
I got one year . . .
Three hundred and sixty something odd days before he showed up at my door . . . shot in the shoulder . . . begging me for help . . . showing me that everything I thought I knew was the farthest from reality I'd ever get.
But then I was given a choice . . . trust him and survive, or fend for myself.
Has loving him proved to have been the biggest mistake of my life?
