On our third anniversary, the restaurant my wife,
Selena Sander, and I frequent is reserved by her twisted first love, Shane Johnson.
He tramples over the rose petals that are scattered all over the floor while making his way toward our table. Then, he slaps a pregnancy report onto the table.
"Three years ago, I personally tattooed a rose on
Selena's abdomen. I even made a vow with her, saying that she cannot give birth to your child until I find someone I love more than her."
As Shane points at the name shown on the pregnancy report, he flashes me a cruel smile.
"Now, I've found my true love. That's why I came to inform
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