Her Choice, My Freedom

The last thing I remembered from that life was the metallic taste of blood.

Mark' s fists felt like concrete blocks, crushing my ribs with every blow.

Through the haze of pain, I saw Sarah by the warehouse door, holding her son.

She watched me die, her beautiful face blank, her eyes cold and empty.

She had chosen him, the gangster, the man now beating me to death, over me.

After twenty years of trying to save her, sacrificing everything, her betrayal was the final, most painful blow.

Then, nothing, until a phone started ringing.