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”
“You cannot spend your last weeks trying to manage what happens to me after you’re gone.”
His eyes closed.
“Probably true.”
“I am seventy-three.”
“Very youthful.”
“I’ve managed my own life for fifty-six years without you.”
“Terribly rude reminder.”
“I will be okay.”
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