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 made friends.

I lost some.

I grew older.

Thomas became an old photograph tucked inside a box I opened perhaps once every decade.

Then, at seventy-three, money brought me home.

My pension was smaller than I had expected.

Rent in the city had become ridiculous.

My savings were respectable but not endless.