Then he had dragged me into this corridor and told me the truth about their marriage was “much worse” than anything I feared.
I had imagined greed.
Inheritance.
Pity.
Even the possibility that he had married Rosie because he had once loved me and wanted to remain near me.
I had not imagined murder.
One of the nurses bent to retrieve the paper.
Ben snatched it first.
“It’s private,” he said.
“Is she having a panic attack?” the nurse asked.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
“You don’t look fine.”
“My sister is in surgery.”
The nurse’s expression softened. “You should sit down.”
Those were almost the same words Ben had used moments before.
I hated them now.
“I said I’m fine.”
The nurses exchanged a glance, then reluctantly returned through the doors, leaving Ben and me alone beneath the humming lights.
I stared at him.
“You knew?”
