His Regret, Her Name, My freedom

My husband spent our wedding night with my sister. She was sick, he said.

When his job transferred him to New York, he took her, not me. His excuse? She'd never seen a big city.

He missed the birth of our son because her divorce was more important.

In the car crash, he shielded her with his body and left me to the impact.

As I lay dying, our own son begged me to set his father free. "You're nothing like her, Mom. Just let him go." My husband stood beside my bed, and his silence was his consent.

But I opened my eyes again. I was back at the registry, staring at the marriage application.

This time, I wrote my sister's name.