I followed Calvin inside our home, so worn-out I could scarcely lift my feet. He went to make us some coffee, and I curled up in my armchair in the sitting room and looked around the beautiful home we’d built. Cal handed me my cup and sat beside me in his own chair.

“Lizzie,” he said uncertainly. “What the hell is going on with you?”

“The other night when I came to your room, you thought I…” I broke off, and he gave me an impatient look.

“I was half-asleep, sweetheart—still dreaming a little too. And that has nothing to do with what happened today—”

“It has nothing to do with what happened with Henry,” I conceded. “But it has everything to do with my reaction to it. I panicked today, and my first reaction was to sacrifice myself.”

“That’s because you’re bighearted—”

“I’m not noble, Calvin!” I exclaimed. “I’m miserable.” He sucked in a sharp breath, and I closed my eyes, momentarily unable to face the pain in his expression. But I had to be brave, and I had to be strong. For both our sakes. I forced my eyes open and I said quietly, “I’m unhappy, Cal. And I think you might be unhappy too. I wish things between us could be different, but they aren’t, and they won’t ever be. It’s not fair or healthy for us to live like this.”

“But we have a good life together, don’t we?” he whispered brokenly.

I drew in a deep breath, and for the first time in fifteen years, I told the truth.

“This is a good life,” I said slowly. “But it’s not my life, and that’s what I need to find my way back to.”

50

Sofie

Birmingham, Alabama
1951

Eight months after my husband was shot, Henry Davis pleaded not guilty by reason of insanity to a charge of attempted murder.

We stayed in Birmingham for the trial, but left the children at home with Claudia. She had been a godsend since Jürgen’s accident, especially after I cut ties with Avril Walters and was in desperate need of help. Despite her misgivings, Claudia was too kind to turn away a neighbor in crisis, and we bonded strongly in those tender early days when the doctors were telling me to brace myself for the worst. By the time I was released from jail, Jürgen was out of surgery and missing his spleen. The first few days were terrifying. The next few weeks frustrating. But after all of that, he came home.