“I bought him a new pair of sneakers.”
My husband, Joe, had died three years earlier, a short while after his business collapsed.
There’d been a scandal. People questioned whether the bad decision he made that ruined the business had been part of some corrupt deal.
The stress had been too much for Joe. He had a heart attack.
But even then, the whispers didn’t stop. If anything, they became nastier.
His former business partner had even released a statement to quell the rumors surrounding Joe’s death.
His words haunted me for years.
There’d been a scandal.
I could still remember his calm composure as he answered questions about the “convenient timing” of Joe’s death, and how coolly Daniel had asserted that the stress and guilt Joe felt likely caused his heart attack.
It was true, but to hear someone say it as though Joe got what he deserved broke something inside me.
I had spent years trying to protect Emma from those ugly stories. Somewhere along the way, I must’ve done something right.
I had sat down beside her and gathered her into my arms.
