I stayed because the idea of a life without him had become more frightening than poverty had ever been.
I had married him for safety.
Somewhere along the way, safety had become love.
Vivian never believed that.
At family dinners, she questioned every decision I made.
When I donated my old uniforms, she asked whether I was erasing evidence.
When I kept taking the bus occasionally, she accused me of performing humility.
When I began feeling nauseated in the mornings, she said rich food was probably too much for my system.
I said nothing.
I assumed the nausea came from stress.
Harrison noticed more than I realized.
In early December, he began losing weight.
At first, he blamed long meetings. Then came the pain, the exhaustion and the afternoon he collapsed in his office.
The diagnosis arrived two days later.
Pancreatic cancer.
Advanced.
Inoperable.
The doctor estimated six to eight weeks.
