Not everything, maybe.
But enough.
She knew people would call me a gold digger.
She knew the age gap was absurd.
She knew I did not look at her the way Harold had in the photographs.
And still, she asked.
I should have said no.
Instead, I reached across the table and took her hand.
“I’d be honored,” I said.
The lie came easily.
The wedding was quiet.
A courthouse ceremony with two witnesses, one being Evelyn’s neighbor Mrs. Alvarez and the other a clerk who looked like she wanted to ask questions but didn’t. Evelyn wore a pale blue dress. I wore a borrowed suit.
Her niece Caroline called that night.
I could hear her crying through the phone.
“Aunt Evelyn, please tell me this isn’t real.”
Evelyn closed her eyes.
“It is real, dear.”
“He is twenty five.”
“I know.”
“He wants your money.”
Evelyn looked at me then.
Not angrily.
Not blindly.
Sadly.
“That may be,” she said.
My stomach tightened.
Caroline said something else, sharp and broken, then hung up.
I pretended I had not heard.
Evelyn pretended she believed me.
Life after that became strange.
