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.
“It ends now.”
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.
It’s what he wanted.”
“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.”
“There was an accident…”
He had no answer for that.
Then he turned to me. “I never lied about loving you.”
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