Weeks after we’d been told he was dying.
I read the words over and over until they blurred together.
If Ben wasn’t dying… then why were we getting married in a hospital?
We’d been told he was dying.
Why had the doctors told us he only had months to live?
Why was he pretending to be a dying man?
I grabbed my phone with shaking hands and photographed the reports as quickly as I could.
There were more papers underneath.
I was about to look at them when the bathroom faucet stopped running.
My heart lurched.
My time was up.
There were more papers underneath.
I slid everything back exactly where I found it and smoothed the sheet.
The toilet flushed.
