For sixty-nine years, I believed I knew everything about the man I married.
Only after Walter died did I discover that he had been quietly preparing for something none of us saw coming.
The lawyer’s waiting room smelled faintly of old books and dust.
I sat with my purse clutched tightly in my lap while my grown children whispered in the hallway.
They kept saying my name.
Not loudly enough for me to hear everything.
Just enough to make me realize they were discussing me as though I weren’t there.
