Their pillow talk drifted out in fragments.
So that was it. Phil was marrying me for one reason only—he needed someone to bear his child.
The longer I listened, the harder the tears fell, dropping heavy and fast.
The truth was, Claire and Phil weren't the only childhood sweethearts.
Phil and I had grown up together too.
The first time I saw him, I was six years old. His parents brought him and his older brother to our house for a visit.
But I'd just been scolded by my mother and was hiding in the little garden, crying where no one could see.
Little Phil stood in front of me, helpless at the sight of my tears, hands fidgeting at his sides.
He scrunched up his face and stared for a long moment, as though working out some impossible problem.
Finally, he held out his hand. Two butterscotch candies sat in his palm, small and bright.
"Hey, don't cry. Here—candy. Pretty girls stop being pretty when they cry, you know?"
I took the two candies, and the little boy broke into a grin.
"You ate my candy, so now you have to be my bride."
Through the blur of my tears I couldn't even make out his face.