Six months later, I was unloading canned goods behind the church when Claire walked up with a clipboard. I handed her an envelope. It was my first payment for the boots, the coat, and the mechanic bill. She said Evie had not asked me to do that. “I know,” I answered. “That’s why I have to.”
That evening, I visited Evie’s grave with the printed message in my pocket. I tore it into pieces and closed my fist around them. “I won’t leave my shame here,” I said. “You carried enough.”
I had married Evie because I wanted her life. In the end, she made me earn my own.
