why I loved him.
My family knew none of this.
They knew I had married a man named Daniel Brooks who lived in Vermont, worked outdoors, kept bees, and wore faded jeans.
I told them he was a farmer.
That wasn’t a lie.
He was.
I simply never added the other part.
Because I knew my mother and sister.
If I had told them Daniel was a wealthy investor, they would have researched him.
They would have recalculated his value.
Suddenly, the quiet man they barely acknowledged would have become
