Eight days after my wife died

was here. She rented the car. And she wasn’t alone.”

My ears rang. “Who was she with?”

The clerk hesitated, then turned his screen toward me. “A man. He signed as the secondary driver.”

The name on the screen made my knees buckle.

My brother.

I demanded the address tied to the rental. The clerk tried to protest, but one look at my face—and maybe the desperation continue reading …