“He wanted you to know the truth.” I looked up at him, uncomprehending.

Julian was a lonely old tailor who had died of heart failure with no family in the world; that was who Julian was; there was nothing else to know.

But Arthur’s grave expression, and the strange heaviness of the backpack in my lap, told me otherwise, told me that the man I had married, the man I had held through his final week believing him to be a forgotten soul, had been carrying a secret so large it required a lawyer and a heavy green backpack to deliver it.

My fingers were trembling as I reached for the zipper.