After an argument, my husband left me at a bus stop with nothing but the rain for company. Nearby, an elderly blind woman whispered, “Pretend you’re my granddaughter — my driver will be here soon. Your husband will regret leaving you beside the richest woman in town.” I had no idea then… she wasn’t joking.
The rain soaked through Anna Prescott’s coat as her husband, Martin, slammed the car door and drove away. His words echoed—You’d be nothing without me. She stood shaking at a dim bus stop on the outskirts of Portland, mascara streaked, hands empty. Her phone, wallet, and keys were gone, taken with him, along with the…