They almost flung me out. “Everyone called me crazy for marrying a 65-year-old woman,” but on our wedding night I saw a mark on her shoulder, heard “I have to tell you the truth,” and realized my entire life had been a lie.

—“By the time I was sure… it was too late.”

Too late.

I let out a hollow laugh.

—“Too late?” I repeated. “We were planning a wedding, Ngozi.”

—“I tried to end it,” she said quickly. “I pulled away. I became distant. I thought you would leave.”

I shook my head.

—“I thought you were scared of commitment.”

—“I was,” she whispered. “Just not in the way you thought.”

Silence filled the room.

Heavy.

Suffocating.

—“So tonight?” I asked. “What was tonight supposed to be?”

She looked at the envelope.

The keys.

Then back at me.

—“My way out,” she said.

I frowned.

—“I was going to give you everything,” she continued. “Set you up. Secure your future.”

Her voice broke again.

—“And then disappear from your life completely.”

That hurt.

More than the truth.

—“You don’t get to decide that,” I said quietly.

She nodded.

—“I know.”

We stood there.

Not as husband and wife.