It was to scrape together the astronomical medical fees that Sara had entered into this absurd marriage contract with Adrian.
After Simon was discharged, she rented this place and hid him here. The Harding family's drivers and nannies were all Adrian's spies, so she couldn't visit often. She'd hired a caretaker, but this morning, the woman's resignation text arrived.
"Everything was fine—why did you fire her?" The thought of him alone was unbearable.
Simon knew why she'd come. "I have hands and feet. I don't need a babysitter."
"The caretaker's wages come from money I borrowed from a friend. Don't feel burdened. If the Hardings didn't forbid their women from working, I would have gotten a job long ago. Just six more months—once the divorce is final, we won't have to hide anymore."
He listened in silence.
Then he spoke. "I had a dream last night."
He rarely shared anything personal these days. Sara leaned in, feigning bright interest. "Tell me about it."
Half-serious, half-joking, he said, "I dreamed you were getting married, and I went to crash the wedding to steal the bride."
A melodramatic soap opera plot. Sara smiled gently. "Did you succeed?"