57 convertible Mark had named "The

r the setting sun. Ten years. He had given it to me on our wedding day, a symbol of our supposedly tim

g. The engine was as silent as Mar

wasn't Mark. It was

er?" a man's profes

, it

'm calling you about a rather delicate mat

n my stomach. "Is he oka

y obligated to inform you of a situation that has come to our attention. It appears your marr

at? That's impossible. We had

he reason it wasn't filed is that Mr. Peterson was already le

r in the car felt thick an

r end of the line, as if he was brac

, Ms. Miller. B

inued, his words a distant buzz. He spoke of bigamy, of me being an unwitting acces

the dark rearview mirror. Mark' s loyalty was a sham. He had built this car for me, piece by piece, telling

the holidays, the way he would look at her with a brotherly affection that I now und

astation. It was the calm of abso

lked straight to the garage. Mark was there, not looking for me, but sta

d in the doorway, hidden in

't used with me in years. "She's probably just being dramatic. The car is old,

me. His face shifted from warmt

is voice clipped. "I was wo

m, at the man I tho

a hand over its fender, but his touch wa

ne look at it tomorrow," he said, already turning t

meant nothing to him because the love it

urn behind my eyes, but I forced them down

my voice surpr

patient. "What

breath. "I'm s

What? Don't be ridiculous. I

gleaming, useless machine. "It's broke

l me I was being emotional,

g into the house. "I've already called a restor

be unease-in his eyes. "You don't have to b

voice cold. "I'll handle it. You just go and

the first time, he