“You were going to marry me again so you could get to my money,” I said.
“I was going to marry you again because I love you,” he said, and his voice cracked. “And because I was drowning.”
I looked at the man I’d been married to for ten years. The man who brought me sandwiches outside night class, and sat beside me while my mother died, and held my hand in the hospital the same afternoon somebody forged my name in front of a notary.
“Nate,” I said. “When you brought me those tulips in the hospital, did you know what your mother was doing that day?”
He closed his eyes.
“I picked up the signed papers from Carol on the way to see you,” he whispered. “They were in my car the whole time I was holding your hand.”
