The first time I noticed my husband adding something unfamiliar to my evening drink, I convinced myself there was a perfectly reasonable explanation.
The second time, I began questioning everything I thought I knew about our marriage.
But when I overheard him whispering, “We’re running out of time. She can’t discover what happened to the others,” I realized that the man I trusted most had been keeping a secret I was never supposed to uncover.
My name is Margaret Bennett. I’m sixty-four years old, a retired elementary schoolteacher, and six months ago, I married a thirty-one-year-old millionaire named Daniel.
Almost everyone questioned our relationship.
My younger sister, Helen, was particularly worried.
“Margaret, he’s thirty-one, wealthy, and successful. Why would he want to marry someone twice his age?”
“Perhaps because he loves me,” I answered.
I desperately wanted that to be true.
Daniel was handsome, charming, and the owner of a successful medical technology investment company. He lived in a magnificent mansion and seemed capable of purchasing anything he wanted.
