Ben reached inside his jacket. “It’s time for you to understand why I really married her.”
I grabbed the wall to steady myself. “Please, don’t ruin four years of watching my sister smile because of you.”
Every horrible thought I had ever pushed away came rushing back. He had done it for money.
Ben pulled out a piece of paper and held it out to me. The letterhead was from my father’s law firm. It contained a payment schedule—a six-figure sum to be paid to Ben if he married Rosie, bearing both my parents’ and Ben’s signatures.
The scream tore out of me before I could stop it. “You SOLD yourself to marry my sister?”
“I know what it looks like, but let me explain—”
“Explain WHAT, Ben?” My voice cracked against the walls. “That you took money from my parents to marry Rosie? She is fighting for her life in there! And you stood beside her at the altar with a check in your pocket?”
Ben slid down the wall, crying. “I never cashed a single one,” he whispered. “Every check they sent went into an account in Rosie’s name. Every dollar. She’ll have it when she needs it.”
“Then why sign it? Why put your name on something so disgusting?”
Ben looked at the floor. “Because I saw where they planned to send her… A place called Willow Grove. Your mother showed me the brochure. She said you both were adults, and Rosie was becoming a burden nobody in the family would carry. Your mother said, ‘Cathy deserves a life of her own. We won’t chain her to Rosie.’ She offered me a settlement to marry Rosie and take legal guardianship. I didn’t sign for the money—I signed because I love her. Because I want her to have the life she deserves.”
“And Rosie knew?” I asked, stunned.
“I told her a year in. She cried, then she laughed, and said she wanted to keep me anyway. She asked me not to tell you so the family wouldn’t be destroyed.”
Just then, the doctor approached, followed by the elevator chime. My parents stepped out, coats folded neatly, asking, “How is she?”
“Rosie is stable,” the doctor said. “Both babies are breathing on their own.”
I let out a sob and grabbed Ben’s sleeve. My mother moved closer for a hug, but I stepped back. “Don’t you touch me. Not after what you did.”
I held up the contract. The blood drained from my parents’ faces.
“You wanted to send her away!” I shouted.
“You don’t understand what we were planning—” my mother started.
“I understand perfectly,” I said. “You signed a contract to get rid of her. Ben signed one to save her.”
Nurses and people in the hallway turned to stare. Humiliated by the public exposure, my parents turned and walked back to the elevator without another word.
A nurse appeared at the doorway and smiled. “She’s asking for both of you.”
I laced my fingers through Ben’s. We walked into the room where Rosie waited with two tiny bundles and a tired, radiant smile.
Three weeks later, my parents resigned as trustees of Rosie’s family trust, and my aunt took over. Word spread through the family, and my parents were quietly ostracized. At the twins’ dedication a few months later, my uncle raised his glass: “Some men become husbands. Ben became a protector.”
