***
When I told Owen, he stared at me like I’d become someone else.
« You’re getting married? »
« On paper, that’s all. »
« To a man in prison? »
« Of course. »
« Yes. »
« You sold yourself to keep me in school? »
« I did it to keep a roof over our heads. »
« That’s not an answer. »
« It’s the only one I have. »
His anger softened into something worse.
« I can get a job. »
« You sold yourself to keep me in school? »
« You are finishing school, Owen. That’s what matters. »
« Sadie, please. »
« No. You graduate. You get out. And you become someone no rich woman can price. »
He looked away first.
That’s how I knew he understood.
***
The wedding happened behind scratched glass.
Jonah sat across from me in a beige prison uniform, thin and tired-eyed.
He looked away first.
« You don’t have to pretend I’m a good man, » he said.
« Good, because I’m not that generous. »
I expected anger, coldness, or arrogance.
Instead, he looked ashamed.
« I did take money, » he said. « $18,000 from a restricted foundation account. My trust was frozen after my father fell ill, and I called it borrowing from my future. »
« I’m not that generous. »
« That’s a fancy way to say stealing. »
« Yes, » he said. « It is. »
« But I didn’t take the $600,000 they put on me, » he added. « Dean did that. »
« Who’s that? »
« My cousin. He moved the larger funds, forged my name, and let my smaller mistake make me easy to blame. »
« Then why did you let them bury you? »
« That’s a fancy way to say stealing. »
Jonah looked toward the guard.
« Because I already hated myself enough to believe I deserved it. »
So I signed the papers.
So did he.
Just like that, I had a husband and rent money.
***
At first, I performed.
So I signed the papers.
I visited twice a month because Celeste’s checks cleared. I wrote letters that sounded warm enough to be useful and vague enough not to be real.
