I was seventy-three when my husband looked me in the eye and said, “You’re old. You’re sick. I’m leaving you for someone who still matters.”

That smile made Wade pause in his tracks. “What are you smiling about?” he snapped.

“Nothing,” I said calmly. “I was just remembering the day your father told me you were charming but incredibly careless.”

His face darkened with sudden anger. “My father was just a bitter old man who never understood my vision.”

“No,” I said gently. “He was entirely accurate about your character.”

Florence rolled her eyes and tugged at his sleeve. “Come on, Wade, she is just trying to scare you into staying.”