The kitchen did not answer.
And somewhere underneath the wine and the chicken and the careful arguments I kept building in his defense, a quieter voice asked the question I had been avoiding for weeks.
What if he wasn’t marrying me for me?
The dinner two nights later was where my doubts hardened into something I could not ignore. Richard poured the wine, smiled across the table, and asked the question casually, as if he were asking about the weather.
« So have you thought about consolidating your retirement accounts, sweetheart? It would make planning our future so much simpler. »
I set my fork down slowly.
« My retirement accounts are already organized, Richard. »
« I just mean, once we’re married, it makes sense to have one clear picture. Joint visibility. That kind of thing. »
I smiled the way women my age learn to smile when something inside them is screaming.
« Let’s not rush. We have time. »
He reached for my hand.
