“The bank would have attached a corporate lien to your home within thirty days,” David said.

“And his coming medical costs would have eaten up your teaching pension.”

He leaned across the mahogany desk, placing his palm flat on the wood.

“He didn’t stop loving you, Mrs.

Whitman,” David said.

“He was trying to bankrupt himself so the creditors couldn’t touch your home.”

The library was completely still, except for the low vibration of the ship’s engines far beneath us.

“He staged the whole separation,” I said.