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My husband, Liam Walker, threw an anniversary party – not for us, but for his vibrant new girlfriend, Chloe Vance. I was just the caterer, forced to serve them in his opulent penthouse. Five years ago, my parents' drunk driving killed his entire family. For these five years, Liam has systematically destroyed me. This party was just another testament to his calculated cruelty, as he toasted to 'leaving the past behind,' his eyes boring into mine. He watched Chloe 'accidentally' scald me, only to rush to her side. My heartfelt gestures, like baking his favorite cake, were met with contempt and tossed into the trash. He believed every one of Chloe's lies, accusing me of violence and even forcing me to donate a kidney to save Chloe after she 'fell' under my 'attack.' He left me to rot, bruised and barefoot, among the graves of our families. His vengeance was absolute, a torment I couldn't escape. Why did he hate me so profoundly, yet chain me to his side? What untold agony drove his every cruel impulse, and what was the true cost of surviving such a monster? I was tired, so tired. So I jumped from the Blackwood Bridge, embracing the cold bay. "It's over," I whispered. But instead of oblivion, I woke, gasping, to a miracle. It was the day before the accident that took his family. The day before our lives crashed. We had a second chance, but could a broken past ever be truly mended?