A younger guy behind us made a face. “Okay, but his parents sound insane.”
The woman snapped, “And so does he.”
“This is private.”
A middle-aged man near the back said, “Lady, he’s trying to get away from a rich, controlling family. That’s not nothing.”
The whole bus felt charged now, like one spark would set it off.
Karl looked at me, desperate and angry at once. “Ignore them. Listen to me. It’s done. There’s no going back, but we can still have a good life.”
For one second, I pictured it: a new city, a nice home, a family, money in the bank, and not a care in the world.
Then I remembered standing with one hand on a coffin, trying not to collapse. Alone.
“There’s no going back, but we can still have a good life.”
I looked at him and felt the last of my love breaking apart.
The bus began slowing for the next stop. I picked up my bag and stood.
Karl stood, too. “You made the right decision. We’ll get off here, go to the airport, and then—”
“No, Karl. Unless you plan to accompany me to the closest police station, I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“You wouldn’t… how could you? After everything I’ve done for you!”
I looked at him for a long moment. At the man I had loved, the man I had married, the man whose death had nearly killed me.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“You did this for yourself. You just expected me to go along with it, but I won’t. I recorded everything, and I’m taking it to the police.”
The woman across the aisle applauded
The bus doors hissed open. I moved past Karl and headed down the aisle.
“Megan, please…” Karl pleaded behind me. “Don’t do this. Don’t destroy our chance to be happy.”
I stepped off the bus. Across the street was a police station. For one second, I stood there shaking, my wedding ring suddenly heavy on my hand.
“Don’t destroy our chance to be happy.”
Then I walked. I did not look back. I strode into the police station and stood at the desk. I got my phone out and found the recording of Karl’s confession.
Standing there, waiting to report my husband’s wrongdoings, I understood one thing with sudden, brutal clarity: Karl had died on our wedding day after all.
Not his body, or his heart.
But the man I thought I knew was gone.
Karl had died on our wedding day after all.