The seventh-floor corridor was quieter than the lobby. Machines hummed behind closed doors. A television murmured somewhere far down the hall. The nurse pointed toward Room 714, then left me standing beside the wall with my purse pressed against my ribs.
I had imagined seeing Lacey again more times than I liked admitting. In some versions she slapped me. In others I apologized. Occasionally, during the early years of my marriage, I imagined encountering her unexpectedly and discovering that she had built a better life than mine. That fantasy made my guilt easier. If she was happier, perhaps what I had done no longer mattered.
Nothing had prepared me for Room 714.
The door stood partly open. A voice from inside asked, “Is that her?”
The nurse beside me nodded and pushed the door wider.
Lacey turned toward me.
Illness had reduced her. That was my first cruel thought. Her shoulders barely raised the hospital gown. A scarf covered her head. Clear tubing ran from her arm toward a machine. Yet the blue eyes I remembered remained sharp enough to make me feel twenty again.
Neither of us spoke.
Then Lacey smiled.
Not warmly.
Not bitterly.
Almost knowingly.
“You came.”
“You asked for me.”
“I did.”
She gestured toward a chair.
I sat.
Her gaze dropped immediately to my left hand.
“You still wear your ring.”
I looked at hers.
“So do you.”
A thin gold band circled her finger.
She touched it with her thumb. “Jeremy bought mine at Walmart. He said anything fancier would make the whole thing feel dishonest.”
The remark was so strange I almost laughed.
Instead I asked the question that had followed me from the courthouse.
“Do you love him?”
Lacey did not protect me.
“Yes.”
My fingers tightened together.
“Still?”
“I don’t know if love listens to calendars.”
I looked toward the window.
“Does he love you?”
This time she took longer.
“He loves the person I was when we were young.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No.” Her voice was steady. “But it may be the truest answer I can give.”
I faced her again.
“Why did you ask him to marry you?”
Her eyes closed briefly.
“When I found out how sick I was, everyone assumed dying would be the frightening part.”
“Wasn’t it?”
“Not at first.”
“What was?”
“Being alone while it happened.”
She told me her parents were gone. Her brother lived in Arizona. Friends had families and obligations. Cancer had turned ordinary companionship into logistics—rides, appointments, nights when fever made sleep impossible. She had spent hours watching other patients arrive with spouses and children while she sat by herself.
“Then Jeremy found me,” she said.
“Found you how?”
“Here.”
“You were already in contact?”
“No.”
The answer startled me.
She explained that they had crossed paths at Vanderbilt by chance. Jeremy had been there for work related to one of his jobs. He recognized her. They spoke awkwardly at first. Then he returned.
“Once?”
“Again and again.”
“And he didn’t mention having a wife?”
“Not immediately.”
A bitter laugh escaped me.
Lacey did not object.
“He told me after I asked why he kept coming back.”
“And when you found out about me?”
“I already knew about you, Jill. I knew who he married.”
The distinction hurt.
“But you still let him come.”
“Yes.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“I’m running out of time for anything else.”
I looked at the IV line taped against her thin wrist.
“Did you tell him to stop?”
“Many times.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He said he couldn’t leave me to do this alone.”
Something inside me tightened. It sounded exactly like Jeremy—the best and worst of him contained in one decision. Loyal enough to sit beside a dying woman. Arrogant enough to believe he could decide what truths his wife deserved.
“And the marriage?”
Lacey stared at the blanket.
“I asked for it.”
“For insurance?”
“That was part of it.”
“David told me.”
Her eyes lifted sharply. “You met David?”
“He recognized me downstairs.”
“That sounds like David.”
“So tell me the part he didn’t.”
Lacey rubbed the edge of the blanket between her fingers.
“I wanted the coverage. I needed help. But I also wanted something selfish.”
“What?”
“To die as Jeremy’s wife.”
The sentence stayed between us.
“You knew he was already married.”
“Yes.”
“You knew that marrying him was illegal.”
“Yes.”
“You knew what it would do to me if I found out.”
“Yes.”
I stood so quickly the chair scraped the floor.
“Then why should I feel sorry for you?”
“You shouldn’t.”
Her answer stopped me.
Lacey looked directly at me.
“I’m dying, Jill. That doesn’t make everything I’ve done noble.”
My anger had nowhere easy to go.
I sat again.
“Did you sleep with him?”
The machines seemed louder after I asked.
Lacey shook her head.
“No.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“He slept in that chair more nights than I can count.”
I followed her gaze toward a recliner near the wall.
“He held my hand. He helped when treatment made me sick. He drove me home. He argued with insurance people. He brought soup I couldn’t eat.”
“But he didn’t touch you.”
“Not that way.”
I searched her face for hesitation.
There was none.
“I thought he was having an affair.”
“He was.”
I frowned.
Lacey lowered her eyes.
“Maybe not the kind you imagined. But he gave me things he hid from you—time, fear, memories, tenderness. Call it whatever you need to call it.”
That honesty hurt more than denial.
“So he built another life.”
“Yes.”
“And you helped.”
“Yes.”
“I hate you.”
Lacey nodded once.
“I understand.”
The anger broke suddenly into exhaustion.
“I don’t even know whether that’s true.”
“I understand that too.”
I moved toward the door.
Then she said my name.
“Jill.”
I stopped.
“Jeremy isn’t the main reason I wanted you here.”
I turned.
Lacey reached beneath her pillow and removed a small envelope.
My name was written across the front.
“What is that?”
“Something my lawyer told me you needed.”
“Jeremy knows?”
“No.”
That pulled me back toward the bed.
“Why hide something from him after helping him hide an entire marriage from me?”
A faint smile touched her mouth.
“Because sometimes people need to lose control of the story they’ve been controlling.”
I took the envelope.
“What’s inside?”
“Read it later.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll ask questions.”
“Maybe I want answers now.”
“You do. But first there’s something else you need to know.”
I remained standing.
Lacey’s expression changed. The sharpness disappeared, leaving something heavier.
“For twenty-two years, I blamed you.”
“I know.”
“I thought you stole Jeremy from me.”
“I did.”
“No.”
The word was quiet.
I stared at her.
“You pursued him.”
“Yes.”
“You wanted him while he was with me.”
“Yes.”
“You behaved selfishly.”
“Yes.”
“But Jeremy chose you.”
I did not know what to say.
Lacey watched my face.
“He told me that after I got sick. He said you’ve carried the whole story as though you were the only person who made a decision.”
“I knew what I was doing.”
“So did he.”
That truth should have relieved me.
Instead it exposed something I had hidden behind for years. If Jeremy had been merely stolen, then I had been the villain and he had been the prize. Guilt had allowed me to avoid admitting that he had betrayed Lacey willingly.
“Why did you leave Nashville so suddenly?” I asked.
Lacey looked toward the window.
“I left because I was angry.”
“At me.”
“At both of you.”
“Then why does Jeremy think you disappeared because of him?”
“He knew part of the reason.”
My stomach tightened.
“What part?”
She took a slow breath.
“I was pregnant when I left.”
The hospital room tilted.
“What?”
“Eight weeks.”
“Jeremy’s baby?”
She nodded.
“Did he know?”
“Yes.”
I sat down.
Everything I understood about that summer rearranged itself. Jeremy had never mentioned a pregnancy. Not once during twenty-two years. Not during arguments about children, not after his mother died, not in the quiet conversations married people have when they believe every important history has already been told.
“What happened?”
“I miscarried after I reached Nashville.”
I covered my mouth.
“Did Jeremy know the baby died?”
“Not immediately.”
“Why didn’t you tell him?”
“Because I was furious. I blamed him. I blamed you. Mostly I blamed myself.”
The resentment I had brought into the room became harder to hold.
“When did he find out?”
“Later.”
“How?”
“His mother.”
“Evelyn?”
Lacey nodded.
The mention of Jeremy’s mother made my chest ache. Evelyn had died twelve years earlier. She had treated me kindly from the beginning, perhaps too kindly considering what had happened.
“She came looking for me,” Lacey said.
“Why?”
“To apologize.”
“For Jeremy?”
“For everything. For knowing I was pregnant. For knowing he had chosen you. For not stopping any of it.”
I shook my head. “Evelyn knew?”
“Yes.”
“And nobody told me.”
“No.”
Twenty-two years of marriage, and suddenly I could see sealed rooms everywhere.
A knock sounded behind me.
Jeremy stood in the doorway.
His face had gone pale.
His eyes moved from Lacey to me.
Then to the envelope in my hand.
Whatever he had planned to say disappeared.
“Jill.”
I rose.
“You knew she was pregnant.”
His shoulders dropped.
“Yes.”
“You knew she lost the baby.”
“Yes.”
“You knew she was dying.”
“Yes.”
“You married her.”
His voice nearly vanished.
“Yes.”
“And every night you came back to our house and looked me in the face.”
He swallowed.
“I thought I was protecting you.”
“From what? Being your wife?”
“From something that couldn’t be changed.”
“That was not your decision.”
“I know.”
“No. You’re saying that because you’ve been caught.”
His eyes filled.
“I know I don’t get to ask you to understand.”
“Good.”
Lacey whispered, “Please.”
Neither of us looked away from the other.
“You gave her three years of your life,” I said.
Jeremy shook his head. “I never stopped loving you.”
“You married another woman.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get to put ‘I love you’ beside that and make the words cancel each other out.”
“I’m not trying to.”
That answer hurt worse than an argument.
Lacey began crying quietly.
Jeremy moved to her bedside and took her hand.
I watched him do it.
There was no lust in the gesture.
That did not make it harmless.
There was tenderness.
History.
Love.
Maybe not the love he had for me. Maybe not the love he once had for her.
But something real.
I looked down at the envelope.
“What’s in here?”
Jeremy’s face changed.
“Lacey.”
She looked at him. “It’s time.”
“You promised you’d wait.”
“I did wait.”
“For what?”
“For Jill to find us.”
My fingers trembled.
Jeremy stepped toward me.
“Don’t open it here.”
“Why?”
“Because there are things in that envelope you should hear slowly.”
I tore it open.
Inside was a folded legal document.
The heading stopped me.
LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF LACEY MARIE TOLLEY.
I looked at Lacey.
Then at Jeremy.
He had tears running down his face now.
“Keep reading,” Lacey said.
I lowered my eyes to the first provision beneath her signature.
The beneficiary’s name was mine.
Click here to continue reading: PART 5: Lacey’s Will Named Me Instead of Jeremy, and the Reason Forced Us to Reconsider Everything We Thought the Other Woman Had Taken
Twenty-Two Years After I Won the Man I Wanted, One Ordinary Tuesday Made Our Marriage Feel Suddenly Unfamiliar
Part 4 of 15
