“Is something wrong?” she asked, probably noticing the sudden change in my demeanor.

“Um no. Well yes, sort of…” I stumbled over the words.

“Well?”

“It’s just… those were Elizabeth – my ex-wife’s clothes.”

“Yeah… well if she’s your ex, why do you still keep a box with all her stuff in it? Why didn’t she take it?”

I made my way to the divan and slumped down, taking a huge sigh. “Because she never had the chance.”

Silence filled the room. I wished I could she Marguerite’s face, she her expression. See reassurance to continue. But I didn’t.

“Elizabeth and I were married for just over a year. I’m not sure why she ever married me in the first place. She detested everything about me.

“Finally one day, she came home and told me she had been having an affair for the last 5 months. She wanted a divorce and she was going out of town with him the next day.

“She packed her suitcase and left. She said she’d get the rest later.”

I took another deep breath. “She died the next day in a car accident.”