I married a lonely older woman for stability and a place to stay — after her funeral, her lawyer handed me a box and said, “She said this is what

“Then at least let the water boil first.”

I glanced down at the kettle, embarrassed.

She laughed softly, and for a few minutes, the room felt almost normal. Like I was a husband. Like she wasn’t just a roof I was standing under.

Then my phone buzzed with a text from Jesse.

“How’s the retirement plan?”

I glanced at Evie. She was smiling at the mug I’d made her.

“How’s the retirement plan?”

“Damon?” she asked. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah,” I said, already typing. “Just Jesse being stupid.”

“All good. Once she’s gone, I’m set.”

I hated myself for two seconds.

Then I locked my phone and acted like two seconds of hate was enough.

***

Three mornings later, Evie dropped a spoon on the kitchen floor.

I turned from the stove. “Evie?”