He’s only gone and got away with it.
Not guilty. You can’t believe it. He can’t believe it. The victim can’t believe it. The lawyer can’t believe it. Fucking hell.
You all go to the pub to celebrate. After his eighth pint of Stella he moves onto vodka and you receive a text message from the judge of his trial that says:
“You owe me. And I know exactly how you can repay me.”
You shudder at the thought but know that it’s worth it to keep your man free. You look at him adoringly, the love of your life, the one person who you would do anything for, just as he smashes a snooker cue around some lad’s head.
But it was never really about love. Not at all. It was about loyalty.
I was loyal to him and he was loyal to me. He never cheated on me or did anything against me, and he never, ever laid a finger on me.
He promised me the world and I believed that he could give it to me.
And I suppose he did. I wanted to have a real family, and he gave me a real family, the most real family I’ve ever known, his own flesh and blood and too many people to count that would always “look out for me.”
But the world he gave me wasn’t the one I wanted. Not really.
I am yet to suffer the same fate as Frances. And although he should be in prison as Reggie was, he’s a free man. I don’t think he would’ve fared very well inside. And he probably won’t enjoy a stay at Her Majesty’s pleasure any time soon.
Unless, of course, I open my mouth.