“To a man in prison?”
“Yes.”
“You sold yourself to keep me in school?”
“I did it to keep a roof over our heads.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
His anger faded into something even harder to face.
“I can get a job.”
“You are finishing school, Owen. That’s what matters.”
“Sadie, please.”
“No. You graduate. You get out. And you become someone no rich woman can price.”
He looked away before I did.
That’s how I knew he understood.
The wedding took place through scratched glass.
Jonah sat across from me in a beige prison uniform, thin and exhausted.
“You don’t have to pretend I’m a good man,” he said.
“Good, because I’m not that generous.”
I expected arrogance, bitterness, or resentment.
Instead, he looked guilty.
“I did take money,” he said. “$18,000 from a restricted foundation account. My trust was frozen after my father fell ill, and I called it borrowing from my future.”
