PART 1: I THOUGHT I WAS MARRYING A FORTUNE

Walter was seventy-eight years old—nearly old enough to be my grandfather—but he was wealthy.

At twenty-nine, I had already left more jobs than most people had applied for.

I quit a dental office because the chair hurt my back. I lasted less than two weeks at a clothing boutique because the lighting made everyone look exhausted. My brief real-estate career ended when I discovered that open houses required hours of standing and answering questions about plumbing.

My parents kept encouraging me to build a career.

I preferred collecting photographs of luxury homes.

“I’m not meant for office life,” I told them. “I’ll marry someone successful.”

My father lowered his fork.

“Marriage is not a retirement plan, Sally.”

Then I met Walter.

He was dining alone at an elegant restaurant when his hand suddenly trembled and his wineglass slipped. I reached the table before the waiter, caught the glass, and moved his phone away from the spill.