“I Married a Dying Homeless Man With Only One Month to Live, Thinking It Was an Act of Charity – Then His Lawyer Called Me the Day After His Funeral and Told Me Who He Really Was”

Her hands stopped over the keyboard.

“Larry?”

I nodded.

Her chair rolled backward.

“Oh, honey.”

She came around the counter and hugged me.

I stood there stiffly.

“I’m Sarah. Larry’s wife.”

When she released me, her eyes were wet.

“When did he pass away?”

“A week ago.”

She looked away.

“I knew he was sick. I didn’t realize it was that close.”

“You knew Larry?”

“I knew he was sick.”

Margaret frowned. “Of course.”

“How?”

She glanced around the courthouse.

“He worked here.”

I stared at her.

“Here?”

“For 28 years.”

“Then how did he end up outside?” I asked.

“He worked here.”

“His health failed after he retired. Medical bills took his savings, and when he lost his apartment, he was too proud to call any of us.”

“What did he do?”

“Marriage licenses, mostly.”

Margaret removed her glasses.

“He never told you?”

“No.”

“What did he do?”