I married a stranger I met in a hospital waiting room so he wouldn’t die alone—after just one week of marriage, his lawyer handed me his backpack.

borrowed from someone else’s closet.

The attorney stood beside the empty hospital bed, one hand resting on the backpack strap.

“Sarah,” he said gently, “Thomas wasn’t who you thought he was.”

I had been married to Thomas for seven days.

I looked at the bed.

The pillow still held the dent of his head.

His peppermint tea sat untouched on the tray table.

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