The Price Of His Twisted Love

t that cost me my legs, my parents, and my unborn child. He did i

erage to keep me silent and compliant. I was his puppet, a broken ballerina

e, confessing everything to a live audience. He admitted he faked the explicit

a twisted, possessive love that

had a price. He had

to death, he had one l

pte

a Quin

eyson Tillman outside the county clerk's office. Eight years. Eight years sin

is arm. She was smiling, her eyes crinkling at the c

by a ghost of the man I used to know. His eye

ced his sudden stillness. She followed his gaze to me, her

language a confused mix of protection and regret. He tried to hide the freshly signed marriage certific

space where my legs used to be, now filled by the sleek, unfeeling metal of my pros

id, his voice a rough whisper. "I..

shiver down my spine. The phantom ache

guilt, flickered back to my face. "I'm so sorry, Elenora," he murmured, his voice

, heavy and meaningless. Like a

y path. His wife, now looking utterly bewildered, too

cking up a false strength. "But I want to help. Fina

y career, my family, my freedom. Th

took everything. My dance, my parents, my name. You framed me for the car acci

bber, the blinding pain, then the cold steel bars of a cell. My world, once

now. I know I did wrong. But I've cha

ng in my own eyes. "There's nothin

arm, blocking me again. "Please, Elenora. L

a mockery. He had already taken ever

on," I said, my voice hardenin

l surface of the laminated card. It wasn't mine, of course. It bel

d held it up, making sure he could see the names printed

y face, then back again. Confusion warred with disb

a saccharine smile playing on my lips. "I got mar

tched the color drain from his face, a perverse satisfaction bl

he pointed at the certificat

edge of the card, attempting to snatch it. I pu

met his eyes, letting my gaze linger on his. "My life is n

y against the marble floor. I needed to escape,

called after me, h

ce. Each step was a defiance, a

touch was cold, possessive. "Elenora, yo

as a cruel, twisted joke. He wa

a sharp tug. "I have someone who cares for me

e divorced, Greyson. You have a new wife. Y

n, watching us with wide, tear-filled eyes. "Go on," I

ay. My heart was pounding, a wild drum against

e last time, a mournful cry that followed me down th

my back, bouncing off my sweater before falling to the

uzzing in my head. She rushed towards me, her journalist's bag bouncing against her hi

a small gash on the metal, too new to be from my morning routine. I hadn'

in my chest told