He never mentioned children. I never thought to ask directly. I figured, the way you figure things about a dying man with nobody visiting, that there simply weren't any.
I figured there simply weren't any.
Then one afternoon, Bennett reached for my hand.
"Marry me, Camille," he whispered.
My heart hammered. "Bennett… you're seriously ill. We barely know each other."
"I don't want the state handling my final hours," he said, his fingers weak but steady around mine. "My last wish is to leave this world as a husband, not as a nameless file in a filing cabinet somewhere."
My last wish is to leave this world as a husband, not as a nameless file.
I knew how unusual it sounded. I sat with it that whole night, turning it over from every angle I could manage, and came back the next morning already knowing what I'd decided.
Two days later, a hospital chaplain married us in that same small room.
