Her breathing grew shallow.
I bent toward her.
“I was a terrible man when I met you.”
She closed her eyes.
“I know.”
The words destroyed me.
I pulled my hand away as if burned.
“You knew?”
Evelyn opened her eyes again.
“I wasn’t stupid.”
I could barely breathe.
“You knew why I married you?”
She looked toward the dark hospital window.
“I knew why you thought you married me.”
Tears blurred my vision.
“I’m sorry.”
Evelyn turned back to me.
“So am I.”
“For what?”
“For letting you believe for so long that you had to earn the right to be cared for.”
I covered my face.
For the first time since childhood, I sobbed without trying to hide it.
Evelyn reached for my hand again.
“You came looking for a house, Michael. Somewhere along the way, you started making it a home.”
She died the following afternoon.
