I started to close the door.
Claire stepped back instead of trying to stop me.
“Greta, he didn’t leave you because he loved me.”
“Robert made me promise.”
The door stopped halfway.
I looked at Claire again.
Her black dress was wrinkled. Her eyes were swollen, and her wedding ring hung from a chain around her neck.
“What did you say?”
Claire lifted the tie.
“He wanted to make sure you received what you deserved.”
Her black dress was wrinkled.
My knees weakened.
I caught the edge of the door.
***
Four months earlier, Robert and I had been standing in the kitchen when he ended our 39-year marriage.
That morning, a doctor told us his cancer had spread.
It was stage four.
The words followed us home and sat between us.
A doctor told us his cancer had spread.
***
I lined up his new pill bottles beside the sink and wrote each dosage on a notepad, as I had handled countless small things throughout our marriage.
“Two after breakfast,” I said. “This one at noon. The doctor said you can’t take the last one on an empty stomach.”
Robert stared at the bottles.
“Did you hear me?”
“I heard you.”
“Two after breakfast.”
I clicked the final tablet into the organizer and reached for his hand.
He pulled away.
“We’ll get through this, my love,” I said.
“There’s no getting through it.”
“Then we’ll face it, Robert.”
“Greta… I don’t want you beside me.”
A few pills slipped from my fingers and rolled across the floor.
“I don’t want you beside me.”
“What did you say?”
“I want a divorce, Greta.”
“We found out this morning that you’re dying, and you’re asking for a divorce?”
“I’m not asking.”
“Then look at me.”
Robert kept his eyes on the refrigerator.
“I want a divorce, Greta.”
“Look at me and say it, Robert!”
His jaw tightened, but he faced me.
“I don’t want you here.”
I searched his face.
“Is this fear talking?”
“No.”
“Then why are your hands shaking?”
“Is this fear talking?”
He shoved them into his pockets.
“I want to spend the time I have left with the person I love.”
My fingers closed around the pill.
“Who?”
“Claire.”
I laughed once.
“I want to spend the time I have left with the person I love.”
Not because it was funny, but because Claire had always seemed like an ordinary coworker.
“Your coworker?”
“She understands me, Greta. More than you.”
“I’ve known you since you owned one suit and thought canned soup counted as dinner.”
“Knowing my habits isn’t the same as knowing me.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Long enough.”
“Your coworker?”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting, Greta.”
The front door opened.
“Mom? Dad?” Hanna, my daughter, called. “We brought groceries.”
She entered carrying two paper bags. Steven, my son, followed with bottled water.
They stopped when they saw the pills scattered near my feet.
“That isn’t an answer.”
“What happened?” Hanna asked.
Robert sat down and let his shoulders sag.
“I need to tell you something.”
“Robert,” I warned.
He looked at our children.
“Your mother can’t handle what’s coming.”
“What happened?”
Steven set down the water.
“What does that mean?”
“It means she wants a divorce.”
Hanna’s grocery bag slipped. An apple rolled across the floor and stopped beside the pill in my hand.
