She met my eyes.
“I don’t know.”
The honesty in her answer frightened me more than any explanation could have.
“If someone falsified your husband’s diagnosis, this has become a criminal matter,” she continued.
I swallowed.
She leaned forward. “Don’t let him know you’ve discovered any of this. Because if we’re right, whatever he’s planning hasn’t happened yet.”
“Whatever he’s planning hasn’t happened yet.”
That afternoon I walked back into Ben’s room carrying takeout soup.
He smiled with obvious relief and reached for my hand.
“I’ve been worrying. About what
