And the day itself, which is a little hazier in my memory, seemed to be a long-awaited prize. Some kind of confirmation that you did love me and hadn’t got engaged to piss your ex-wife off. I felt fierce love for you. Pride, too. You were so charming and gentle with my friends. And I think I actually loved you still more when I saw your obvious embarrassment in your very ordinary family, and the way you’d schemed to keep them away from your middle-class friends. I saw it all through a haze of adoration, where every part of you now belonged to me.

But I also remember the next day. When I asked you how it felt, and you said you couldn’t remember that much of it, but you were glad we’d done it.

Glad we’d done it.

I remember laughing at your unromantic ways, while inwardly I felt like I was being crushed. I knew you had a capacity for romance. It had been clear from the little things you’d done early on, and from your proposal. I had somehow just stopped stirring it in you.

I was glad when the subject moved on to April and what she’d said at the wedding reception. How she’d drawn you to one side and said, unusually slowly, that I was the best person she knew, and she’d kill you if you ever hurt me. I remember the sheen of sweat on your brow as you told me about it, even a day later. I could see it had shaken you more than you wanted to admit. But you were angry about it, too.

Who does she think she is, saying that to the man who loves you?

I remember feeling for you when you said that. I would have been angry, too, I thought. But now I think not. I think I would have assumed April just cared about her best friend. I would probably have forgiven it.

Maybe your anger came from somewhere else. From guilt.

Those are the only really strong memories I have of our wedding. The photos seem to be of some fantastical dream I once had.

I sometimes wonder whether I would have gone through with it if I’d known everything I do now. In particular, if I’d known about the money.

I’m being honest when I say that I never even suspected it. The truth only hit home three months after our wedding, during that strange, rather disappointing time when the ceremony and the party were all done, when the gifts were all opened and had been used a few times or put away, when life had returned to normal and I’d really understood that marriage was never going to make me feel secure.