Come back inside.”

“Goodbye, Casper,” I said, rolling my suitcase down the paved walk.

“Thank you for showing me who you were — before I wasted fifteen years finding out.”

I slid into the back seat, pulled the door shut, and told the driver to head for the city center.

Through the rear window I watched the two of them standing at the end of the driveway, looking suddenly small, as the neighbors began drifting onto their lawns to watch.

I had walked in yesterday as a bride.