LUCKY TWICE

I always told Paul, my husband of thirty-five years, "If I die and you meet someone new – get married. Don't be alone." But I always added one condition. "Just make sure you don't give that bitch one more cent then you would give me."

He would never reciprocate; maybe he couldn't bear to imagine me in the arms of another man. Even when he was diagnosed with cancer, he couldn't bring himself to say the same to me. It wasn't until he was in hospice, three days before his death, that he gave me...