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“Nobody told me either.” Linda held out two documents. “Arthur and Michael. Nobody in our family ever talked about Michael. He must’ve done something terrible to get kicked out of the family.”
I stared at Linda. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
Linda sighed. “When I was 18, Dad went away for a week on business. When he came back, he wasn’t right. He forgot things, suddenly developed weird habits, and didn’t even speak the same way. And whenever I questioned it, he made me feel crazy.”
She certainly sounded crazy, but I didn’t interrupt.
“He said I was confusing things because I hadn’t processed my mother’s death. I started to believe him. Then, a year ago, I found this.”
She handed me the last document.
My knees nearly gave way.
Every memory I’d made with Arthur rearranged itself in my mind with sickening speed as I reread the words on that page.
“It ends now,” I said.
Gripping the documents in trembling hands, I marched back upstairs.
The party was still going on. Someone laughed near the drinks table. Plates clinked.
I walked straight toward him.
He smiled. “There you are. I was wondering where—”
“Arthur, I need you to explain this.” I held up the last document Linda had given me.
The blood drained from Arthur’s face. “Where did you get that?”
“That’s not an answer! This,” I shook the document, “is your death certificate. How is it possible that I just married a dead man?”
“What?” Someone yelled.
Arthur glanced around. Then something changed in his face — not panic, not outrage, just exhaustion. He pulled out a chair and sat down.
“I suppose this was always going to come out, eventually. I’m not Arthur. I’m Michael. But I swear, I only took his place because it’s what he wanted.”
“What are you talking about?” Linda demanded.
“I became estranged from my family in my late 20s. I was involved with some people they considered dangerous. Arthur stayed in touch secretly. Twenty years ago, Arthur came to see me. There was an accident…”
“What kind of accident? Something to do with your dangerous friends?” Linda asked.
Michael didn’t answer that.
“He was dying,” Michael continued. “He knew it. He told me Linda couldn’t lose another parent. He begged me to take his place.”
“Don’t dress this up as noble,” Linda said, her voice cutting. “You made me doubt my own mind. You let me mourn my father while looking at his face every day.”
He had no answer for that.
Then he turned to me. “I never lied about loving you.”
And the terrible thing was, I believed him. But love built on theft is still theft. Love that requires another person’s life to be erased is not love you can trust.
“You didn’t just lie. You erased someone. Then you asked me to stand in front of God and marry the lie.” I slipped off my ring and placed it in his palm. “I can’t do it. I won’t.”
Nobody moved.
I turned to Linda. Tears streamed down her face.
“You deserved the truth a long time ago,” I said.
She made a broken sound, half sob and half laugh, and nodded.
I walked out of that backyard alone.
* * *
The marriage was annulled.
There were police reports, lawyers, and ugly conversations about identity fraud.
Michael was arrested.
I still go to church. Some people look at me with pity, some with admiration, most with discomfort. A scandal like that never really goes away.
Linda and I have coffee every Thursday. Last week she said, “You know, you’re the only good thing that came out of this.”
I smiled at my cup. “That is a terrible compliment.”
“It’s the best I’ve got.”
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