So I said yes.
For the next five years, I waited for the price of my decision to reveal itself.
It
never did.
Richard never pressured me to share his bedroom.
He never demanded that Emily call him her father.
Instead, he gave us patience, security, and a family.
He taught Emily chess.
He stayed beside her when she was sick.
He treated her like the daughter he’d never had.
And slowly, I stopped being afraid of him.
By the fifth year, Richard’s health had deteriorated badly.
I brought him his coffee every morning.
I helped him into his wheelchair.
We walked through the garden together whenever he had the strength.
We talked about Emily.
We talked about flowers.
We talked about everything except the fact that his time was running out.
Then one morning, Richard died.
I sat beside his bed and cried.
Not because I had lost a wealthy husband.
Interesting