At 73, I Married My Dying High School Sweetheart as His Final Wish—After the Funeral, His Lawyer Knocked on My Door and Said, “You Walked Right Into His Trap”

I looked at my shoes.

Still terrible.

Not the girl from the bus station. You. The seventy-three-year-old woman who corrected my medication list twice even after being removed from my care.

I laughed.

Thank you for saying yes.

Then:

And thank you, eventually, for saying no to everyone who thinks love gives them the right to make decisions for you.

I sat alone at Thomas’s kitchen table for a long time.