“That’s a lie!”
Robert rubbed his forehead.
“She said our marriage has been over for years.”
“What does that mean?”
“Stop talking, Robert!”
Hanna stared at me.
“Mom?”
“Your father just told me he wants to leave me for Claire.”
Robert closed his eyes.
“Please don’t make this harder, Greta.”
“Stop talking, Robert!”
“Harder?” I stepped toward him. “You told me you loved another woman, and now you’re making me explain your lie.”
Hanna moved beside him.
“Dad just told us it’s stage four. And now you want to leave?”
“I don’t want to leave. Your father does.”
Steven looked at Robert.
“Dad, did you ask Mom for the divorce?”
“I don’t want to leave.”
Robert said nothing.
That silence should’ve saved me.
Instead, Hanna reached for his hand. Nothing I said would make her believe me.
“How could you leave him now?” Hanna asked.
“I’m trying to stay!”
Robert looked away. “Just let her go.”
Robert said nothing.
***
Three weeks later, I signed the divorce papers.
Robert gave me the house, most of our savings, and part of his business money.
The adviser reviewing the papers called the terms unusually generous.
Robert sat across from me in a gray suit and the blue tie.
“Why are you giving me almost everything?” I asked.
“I won’t need the house.”
I signed the divorce papers.
“That’s not a reason.”
“Sign the papers, Greta.”
“A guilty man can still be generous.”
His mouth tightened.
“I’m not doing this out of guilt.”
“Then why are you wearing my tie?”
He glanced down.
“Sign the papers, Greta.”
“It matched the suit.”
“You haven’t worn it in years.”
“Not everything means something.”
I signed.
***
Outside, Hanna and Steven waited near Steven’s car.
I walked toward them.
“Not everything means something.”
“Hanna, please. Let’s sit down somewhere and talk, honey.”
She stepped back.
“Did you get the house?”
“What?”
“Dad said he gave you everything you wanted.”
“I didn’t want a divorce.”
Steven folded his arms.
“Hanna, please.”
“He’s dying, Mom.”
“I know that.”
“Then why make this about money?”
“Your father was the one who wanted to leave.”
“Then why would he lie?” Hanna asked.
Robert came out behind us.
“Tell them what you said in the kitchen,” I demanded.
“He’s dying, Mom.”
He lowered his eyes and walked past me.
Hanna opened the car door for him.
“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.
Hanna ignored my calls.
“Dad is gone.”
***
The next afternoon, she called.
“You can’t come to the funeral.”
I gripped the kitchen counter.
“He was my husband.”
“He stopped being your husband.”
“He was still part of my life for 39 years.”
“Dad is gone.”
“Steven and I agreed that you being there would upset everyone.”
“I didn’t leave your father, Hanna.”
“I’m not having this argument again.”
The line went dead.
***
I spent the day of Robert’s funeral alone.
I cleaned until three in the afternoon, when I took Robert’s mug from the cupboard.
“I didn’t leave your father, Hanna.”
I almost threw it away.
Instead, I washed it and set it on the drying rack.
***
The next morning, Claire came to my door.
I let her into the kitchen but didn’t offer coffee.
“You have five minutes,” I said.
She placed the blue tie on the table.
I almost threw it away.
Then she removed three papers from her purse.
The first was a letter.
The second showed that the rest of Robert’s business money had been assigned to me.
The third was an old bank statement.
I picked it up.
My mother’s name appeared near the top.
I picked it up.
***
My mother had left me a small inheritance when she died. Robert told me the account had performed badly, then said he had moved what remained into our joint savings.
I believed him for 30 years.
Now the old statement shook in my hand.
“This account was closed,” I said. “Robert showed me the paperwork.”
Claire pulled out the chair across from me but didn’t sit.
I believed him.
“He showed you what he wanted you to see.”
I looked at the amount on the page.
“What happened to the money?”
“He used it when the business was close to failing.”
I gripped the chair.
“He took my inheritance?”
I gripped the chair.
“Yes.”
“Without asking me?”
“Yes.”
“That was the last thing my mother left me.”
Claire’s voice dropped. “I know.”
“No, you know the number on a page. You don’t know what it meant, Claire.”
“Without asking me?”
“You’re right.”
Her answer stopped me.
She wasn’t defending him.
“He meant to replace it, but the business recovered slowly. By the time he could repay you, the lie had grown too large.”
