They Broke My Wife’s Legs and Called It an Accident — The Sheriff Had No Idea What I Actually Did for the Army
Chapter 8 — The Flowers
At twelve minutes past six the next morning, Trent Prescott walked into my wife’s hospital room carrying a bouquet of cheap store-bought flowers, and I nearly laughed at the sheer arrogance of it.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” I said, from the corner chair.
He glanced at the bed.
“She awake?”
“No.”
“Good.” He tossed the flowers carelessly onto an empty chair.
“Then we can talk like men.” And I quietly touched the face of my watch, activating the recorder built into it, and he noticed nothing at all.
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