“You’re already my wife,” he said. “We should make it official.”
We planned a small backyard wedding.
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But Danny also began asking questions.
“Is your house paid off?”
“Do you have a will?”
“We’re not twenty anymore,” he said. “We should take care of each other.”
I ignored the uneasiness in my stomach.
The day before the wedding, Helen arrived and saw Danny.
She froze.
“You cannot marry that man.”
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“You knew he was alive.”
“Yes.”
“You convinced me to move.”
“Yes.”
“You married his friend.”
“Yes.”
I felt betrayed all over again.
Then Helen looked at Danny.
“Ask him about Margaret.”
Danny went completely still.
“The nurse?” I asked.
Helen nodded.
“Ask him how long Margaret kept saving him.”
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
Why was Danny rushing the wedding?
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Why was he asking about my house and my will?
And why had Margaret’s name frightened him?
At two in the morning, I drove to Helen’s house.
“Tell me everything.”
Helen finally confessed the truth.
Danny hadn’t spent fifty-five years searching for me.
“Margaret happened,” she said.
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Danny had met Margaret while recovering from his injuries. They became partners. They spent almost fifty years together, had children, and built a life.
“Then why did he tell me she was only his nurse?”
“Because he wants you to believe he was always faithful to you.”
I felt sick.
“Why did you let me believe he was dead?”
Helen’s eyes filled with tears.
“Danny asked his friend to uvrtell you he’d died. I found out later. I thought you’d survive a dead hero better than a husband who chose someone else.”
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