Who the hell does she think she is? How dare she talk to me like this? I’m in misery right now. Everything hurts. My head, my heart, my soul are aching. “You have no idea how I feel.”

“Then tell me.”

The idea of trying to articulate any of this makes me tired. “Confused. I’m so confused. All I keep asking is why? Why, why, why? I go from denial to anger and back to denial. I keep waiting for him to open the door or send me a text. I can’t stop myself from calling his phone.” I start to cry again. “I call and listen to his voice. I play it over and over because I’ll never hear it again.”

“Shhh.” She enfolds me in her arms. “Did something happen with him or between you guys?”

That’s the million-dollar question. I went through all his belongings, searching for an answer, but there was nothing. His home office held nothing. Everything he owned was in its place.

“I have no idea.” My voice is thick with emotion. “This isn’t the man I knew. My husband, your brother, their father—wouldn’t do this. He would’ve talked to me, or I don’t know.”

She takes my hand in hers. “When are you going to tell the boys the truth?”

I close my eyes and release a long breath. “I can’t tell them everything. I know they’re not babies, but they can never know the details.”

Her eyes widen. “Pres.”

“They don’t ever need to know he chose to leave us. I won’t lie, but I’m going to protect them. I need you to do the same.”

“Pres,” she interjects, but I raise my hand to stop her.

“No.” My voice leaves no room for discussion. “They’re my kids. They’re already apologizing for not saving him, and I’m thanking God they never walked upstairs. So, no. We protect the kids. I never want them to know what he did. The emotions I feel, the anger, disappointment, and confusion—they shouldn’t have to battle it, too. No one else can know either. Not your mother, not my parents, no one.”

She leans back with disapproval written all over her face. “One day they’ll find out, and then what?”

“Then I’ll handle it.”

I probably shouldn’t be making these kinds of choices right now. I’m not in the right state of mind, but this . . . I feel confident about. Those babies are all I have left. My heart is torn apart, not only from losing him, but also from knowing how. Why couldn’t he talk to me? When did he decide this?

“Okay,” she says with disappointment. “I don’t agree, but I won’t say a word.”

We sit in awkward silence. Angie has been my best friend since I left Tennessee. She’s helped me in so many ways, but right now, she can’t. I have to do this on my own.

I grab the phone off my nightstand. “Hello?” My voice is still heavy with sleep despite it being after two in the afternoon.

“Mrs. Benson, this is John Dowd. I was Todd’s insurance agent.”

“Oh, yes.” I sit up, wiping my eyes. “Thank you for calling me back.”

“I wanted to go over some information with you. Is now a good time?”

The boys are at school, I’m in bed, and I’m not planning on moving from this spot today, so I guess it’s as good a time as any. “Sure, Mr. Dowd. Now is fine.”

He releases a deep breath. “I’m calling to let you know the status of the insurance payout. Your father-in-law started the process on your behalf. About a year ago, Todd had me revise his life insurance plan. He upped it from $500,000 to $750,000. He wanted to ensure you had enough income, if something should happen, once your business started.”

“Oh. I guess that was nice of him.” How nice that he was planning for the future, I want to scoff.

“Yes, well, the issue is that there’s a suicide clause. Martin explained the circumstances surrounding Todd’s death. The thing is . . . if the plan isn’t two years old, the insurance policy won’t pay out.”

The floor drops out from under me all over again. “But he was the primary breadwinner. I don’t understand. We’ll get nothing?”

He clears his throat. “I’m afraid so. I tried, but with the policy being only a year old, they’re refusing to pay anything other than what Todd paid in. We rolled the premium over, but honestly, Mrs. Benson, it’s not much.”

Oh, my God. “I-I,” I stutter, trying to find the words. “But my kids. Our home. How are we going to survive? How do I pay the mortgage and the bills?”

“I’m truly sorry. I would call the bank, plead your case. Sometimes they’ll work with you. I’ll call Martin as well, explain the situation. But I tried all the appeals I could. There’s really nothing the insurance agency can offer you.”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to handle this.” I feel sick. “You’re positive there’s nothing else? If I obtained a lawyer?”

Mr. Dowd sighs. “I wish it would help. But the policy is very clear.”

“Okay, then,” I reply with defeat.

“If I can do anything, I will. I’m sorry again.”

“Thank you.”

I hang up the phone, bearing yet another blow. They just keep coming.

O F COURSE. THAT’S ALL I can keep thinking. Of course this is happening. If he hadn’t changed the plan, we would have money to pay our bills. Now, I don’t know how we’re going to afford the mortgage. Our bakery is barely breaking even, let alone paying me enough to survive.

I spend the next hour going through our home office. There’s nothing financial anywhere. I can’t find a bank statement, credit card bill, paystub . . . nothing. I don’t know if maybe he kept all the bills at work. I find the phone numbers on the back of the cards and start dialing.

“What do you mean we have an outstanding bill?” I ask the fourth credit card company.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Benson,” the woman on the phone says for the tenth time. “The notes state that your husband arranged a payment plan but has been unable to keep up with it. If you don’t pay the minimum balance by the end of the week, we’re going to be sending the account to collections.”

The blood drains from my body. It’s the same speech from every account we have. Dozens of apologies. Hundreds of tears. And zero answers on how to get through this. I decide to call the office. Maybe Jeff will have some answers about where the hell Todd’s paychecks have been going.

“Sterling, Dodd, and March Investment,” Kyla’s sweet voice rings in my ear.

“Hi, Kyla.” I let out a shaky breath. “It’s Presley Benson. Is Jeff available?”

I haven’t had time to think about much, but I don’t remember seeing him at the funeral. It’s all a blur though, a horrible nightmare.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear about Todd,” her concern floats through.

“Thank you,” I say on autopilot. I hear this so much that it’s lost its meaning. Sorry for what? Sorry that I’m in pain? Sorry that the boys are now without a father? Sorry that you didn’t see it coming? What exactly is everyone fucking sorry for?

She clears her throat. “I wanted to call.”