As the monitors softly buzzed in the dim hospital room on the last night of Henry’s life, he reached for Martha’s hand with a tenderness that came from fifty years of shared joys and modest sacrifices. When he voiced the question that had plainly been bothering him for a long time, his voice shook: “Martha, in all the years we’ve been together, have you ever cheated on me?”
She paused, her eyes shining with a mix of love and sorrow, before telling him the truth: yes, she had cheated on him three times, but only, she explained, “for good reasons.” He was shocked by what she said, but he grabbed her hand harder, getting ready for the explanations that came next.
First, she reminded him of how close they were to losing their modest house when they first got married. Henry remembered how scared he was back then, when the bank threatened to take his house. Martha whispered that she had visited the banker alone one night, and by morning, their mortgage had inexplicably extended.
Henry put up with the discomfort and instead thought of her sacrifice in terms of survival. Her second revelation made him even more open: years later, when his heart was failing and they couldn’t pay for the procedure, she went to see his doctor late one night. The next day, the surgery was done for free. Henry’s eyes softened with thanks since that betrayal, if it was one, had spared his life.
But then there was the third time, the one he couldn’t remember and the one she thought about the longest. When she finally spoke, her voice seemed almost embarrassed, as if she knew how silly what she was about to say was.
“Do you remember when you ran for president of your golf club?” she inquired. Henry nodded slowly, and the memory came back. She leaned in and held his hand tightly. “You needed seventy-three more votes.” The suggestion hung in the air like a strange, uncomfortable fog, both alarming and darkly funny.
Henry looked at her, divided between not believing her and a laugh he couldn’t let out. He recognized at that time that their marriage had been built on love and very strange gestures of devotion.
He didn’t know whether to feel hurt or strangely honored when his eyes closed for the last time, but he knew one thing: Martha had always done whatever was needed to keep him alive, safe, and, it seemed, elected.
