“Claire’s taking care of Dad now.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“They’re getting married,” she added.
I looked at Robert.
“What does that mean?”
He still wouldn’t face me.
“In three weeks,” Hanna added. “She’s willing to stay.”
“I was willing to stay.”
Hanna’s eyes filled, but her voice stayed hard.
“Then you should’ve acted like it.”
They drove away with Robert in the back seat.
“She’s willing to stay.”
***
Three weeks later, an old friend showed me a picture of the wedding while I was buying milk.
Claire wore a simple cream dress.
Robert wore the blue tie.
“At least he found some happiness, Greta,” the woman said. “Especially when he had so little time left.”
I handed back the phone.
Robert wore the blue tie.
“I stood beside him for 39 years. People forget the years that happen before the gossip.”
Then I picked up my milk and left.
***
For four months, I cried, paid the bills, and fixed whatever broke.
Hanna ignored my calls. Steven answered twice, speaking to me like a distant acquaintance. Neither told me when Robert became worse.
I learned he’d died from a message Hanna sent after midnight.
