Robert looked away. “Just let her go.”
Robert said nothing.
***
Three weeks later, I signed the divorce papers.
Robert gave me the house, most of our savings, and part of his business money.
The adviser reviewing the papers called the terms unusually generous.
Robert sat across from me in a gray suit and the blue tie.
“Why are you giving me almost everything?” I asked.
“I won’t need the house.”
I signed the divorce papers.
“That’s not a reason.”
“Sign the papers, Greta.”
“A guilty man can still be generous.”
His mouth tightened.
“I’m not doing this out of guilt.”
“Then why are you wearing my tie?”
He glanced down.
“Sign the papers, Greta.”
“It matched the suit.”
“You haven’t worn it in years.”
“Not everything means something.”
I signed.
***
Outside, Hanna and Steven waited near Steven’s car.
I walked toward them.
“Not everything means something.”
“Hanna, please. Let’s sit down somewhere and talk, honey.”
She stepped back.
“Did you get the house?”
“What?”
“Dad said he gave you everything you wanted.”
“I didn’t want a divorce.”
Steven folded his arms.
“Hanna, please.”
“He’s dying, Mom.”
“I know that.”
“Then why make this about money?”
“Your father was the one who wanted to leave.”
“Then why would he lie?” Hanna asked.
Robert came out behind us.
“Tell them what you said in the kitchen,” I demanded.
“He’s dying, Mom.”
He lowered his eyes and walked past me.
Hanna opened the car door for him.
“Claire’s taking care of Dad now.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“They’re getting married,” she added.
I looked at Robert.
“What does that mean?”
He still wouldn’t face me.
“In three weeks,” Hanna added. “She’s willing to stay.”
“I was willing to stay.”
Hanna’s eyes filled, but her voice stayed hard.
“Then you should’ve acted like it.”
They drove away with Robert in the back seat.
“She’s willing to stay.”
***
Three weeks later, an old friend showed me a picture of the wedding while I was buying milk.
Claire wore a simple cream dress.
Robert wore the blue tie.
“At least he found some happiness, Greta,” the woman said. “Especially when he had so little time left.”
I handed back the phone.
Robert wore the blue tie.
“I stood beside him for 39 years. People forget the years that happen before the gossip.”
Then I picked up my milk and left.
***
For four months, I cried, paid the bills, and fixed whatever broke.
Hanna ignored my calls. Steven answered twice, speaking to me like a distant acquaintance. Neither told me when Robert became worse.
I learned he’d died from a message Hanna sent after midnight.
Hanna ignored my calls.
“Dad is gone.”
***
The next afternoon, she called.
“You can’t come to the funeral.”
I gripped the kitchen counter.
“He was my husband.”
“He stopped being your husband.”
“He was still part of my life for 39 years.”
“Dad is gone.”
