I met a charming widower on my first cruise and, against my better judgment, started believing that maybe life still had a few surprises left for me. Then, on the final night of the trip, I followed him into a restricted corridor below deck and found my suitcase outside a room filled with photographs of me—some taken before Richard and I had supposedly met….
The alarm was still pulsing through the corridor when Richard caught up with me.
“What is happening?” I demanded.
His hand closed around my arm.
“Margaret, please.”
“No.”
I pulled away from him and pointed through the open doorway.
“My scarf is in there. My suitcase is outside your door. And you have photographs of me from before we even met.”
Richard’s expression changed.
It wasn’t guilt exactly.
