"No." I shake my head. "Absolutely not. My husband only took anxiety medication. Nothing else. I'm sure of it. He's never done drugs in his life. Even when he got shot in the leg, he never took any opioids for the pain."

The two policemen share a look.

"We've checked with his therapist, and his toxicological report didn't match with the pills he was prescribed," one of them says. "He must have obtained the drugs illegally and disguised them as anxiety medication."

My face falls at what they're implying. My mouth hangs open in shock as I cannot find the words to refute their accusation—how could I when it's simply outrageous? Nikki would have never bought illegal drugs, nor would he have lied to me.

The other looks contrite as he adds, "I'm sorry to be the one to break it to you, Mrs. Archibald, but your husband had a very high percentage of opioids in his blood. If he was already taking other medication, he could have easily hidden the opioids from you."

The memory of Nikki taking that medicine right before the accident flashes in my head, but I dismiss it.

"No. You're wrong. He would have never done that, Officer. He would have never taken a risk with my life," I tell them staunchly.

If there's anything that I'm sure of, it's that Nikki would have never done anything that could result in me being harmed. To hear that he had taken drugs while driving? With me by his side? Preposterous.

"The lab results don't lie, Mrs. Archibald. I know it's hard to believe, but it's the truth."

"So that's it? You're just going to make him the one guilty for the accident? Just like that? The other driver crashed into us."

"We've checked everything thoroughly, ma'am, and there's nothing to confirm your story. If anything, it's the reverse. The other truck has marks that show your RV crashed into it."

"You might be misremembering because of your head injury," the other one continues. "But back to the purpose of our visit. We wanted to let you know that the injured party will not press charges and has decided to settle with your family lawyer for the damages."

I stare at them, flabbergasted.

They say a few more things, but I tune them out.

"We wish you a speedy recovery, Mrs. Archibald," the words barely register in my brain. I don't reply, staring at their retreating figures until the door snaps shut.

Am I remembering it wrong?

That can't be, can it?

Did my injury change my perception of the events?

But no, I can remember everything clearly up to the moment of collision. I know what I saw and what I felt. The truck hit us, and we were both catapulted out of the cockpit.

My brows furrow as I try to focus on the events of that day. Had Nikki seemed weird? Had he behaved out of the ordinary?