Guy’s wife, Anna, was around my age. She was taller than her husband and towered over me. She was lovely—blond hair and blue eyes, with a great body that included big breasts and shapely legs. How much of it was due to surgery was anyone’s guess, but it looked great on her. When Guy and Chris had business to discuss, the two of us went shopping. Anna was anything but a ditz. She, like me, played it close to the vest, revealing little about herself and even less about Guy. Instead, we talked designer duds, diet fads, fashion trends, and we even touched on politics during lunch. Anything except the men in our lives. Together we picked out a cream-colored Chanel suit that I wore for my nuptials.

The trip to Vegas also included a gift from Chris from a pawnshop and a house hunt. Since I didn’t know the different areas, I suggested that Chris set us up in a rental until I could decide what community was best suited for my family. He refused. No one would have a set of keys to my place except the two of us and an armed guard of his choosing. We compromised on a suburban three-bedroom house with a pool and a price tag that wouldn’t dent his vault. It was late afternoon when we arrived back in our hotel suite. On tap for the evening was dinner at a chef-driven restaurant and the latest show by Cirque du Soleil. He had scheduled the plane to leave around midnight because he wanted to be back in Mountain Pass before the morning. I felt it best to pack up now rather than rush it later on.

The bed was covered with stuff. Chris had neatly laid out his clothes and accoutrements while I was, by nature, much less regimental. But during our years together, I had learned that order was very important to him. Everything that went into the suitcases had to be properly folded—even the dirty laundry.

He came into the bedroom from the living room, clicking off his phone and stowing it in his pocket. He said, “You’re not my valet, Terry. I can pack my own clothes.”

“It’s fine,” I told him. “I know how you like it.”

He approached me from behind and put his hands around my waist. Then he turned me around. “I can look after myself. I’ve been doing it for eleven years.”

He peered into my eyes. They started to water. It had been such an emotional time, and this was just the topper. I just couldn’t seem to control my own life. He seemed to read my mind.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted—”

“Chris—”