Too Late to Regret: My Husband’s Toxic Secret

On our third anniversary, Clement pressured me to bring some files he had left at home to his campus.

Heavily pregnant, I braved the pouring rain and headed out with the specific files he insisted on having.

But less than five hundred meters from the school, a group of local thugs cornered me in a dark alley to rob me.

To protect Clement’s files, I held onto my bag with all my might.

Infuriated, the thugs stabbed me repeatedly. My blood stained the rain-slicked pavement a gruesome crimson.

As I weakly tried to call Clement for help, his childhood friend Matt’s call came through first.