“What do you want me to say?”
Theo noticed.
“So there was something.”
I folded my arms.
“What did you find?”
“During the insurance dispute, you asked me to search your email for the legal paperwork. I searched the word ‘legal,'” he said. “The consultation confirmation came up.”
“So there was something.”
My stomach dropped.
“Theo.”
“Three days before my diagnosis.”
“It was a consultation.”
He gave a short laugh.
“Theo.”
“Thank God. For a second I thought my wife wanted a divorce.”
I looked away.
That was the problem with buried truths. They waited.
“Why didn’t you ask me?”
“When, Ali?”
“Why didn’t you ask me?”
His voice rose.
“When I was throwing up? When you were sleeping three hours a day? When neither of us knew if I’d still be here in six months?”
“You had 11 months.”
“And for 11 months, I wondered the same thing.”
“When I was throwing up?”
