“What are you doing?”
I pulled open the dresser and began placing her clothes on the bed.
“You cannot stay here.”
She froze.
“Please.”
“You have Marta. You have the account David created.”
“I don’t want the money.”
“You have somewhere to go.”
“Marta moved into assisted living. That is why I came here.”
I stopped for half a second.
Then I continued packing.
“You are not my responsibility.”
The words sounded cruel, but I needed them to be true.
“I never asked to be,” Grace whispered.
“Neither did I.”
I zipped her backpack and placed it near the door.
My hands had stopped shaking.
That frightened me.
“I loved David,” I said. “I loved a man who let me live fifteen years without knowing something that shaped his entire life.”
Grace’s mouth trembled.
“Every time I look at you, I will see what he chose to hide from me.”
“I didn’t do it.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you punishing me?”
The question struck harder than anger would have.
“I cannot live with this tonight.”
“He said you might send me away.”
I looked at her.
“Then he finally told the truth about something.”
Grace picked up the backpack.
She walked into the hallway, dragging one strap along the wooden floor.
The scraping sound followed her toward the stairs.
I stood at the top landing while she descended two steps.
Then she collapsed.
