Her Husband’s Life Insurance Company Refused to Pay. She Didn’t Know I Was the Last Person Who Saw Him Alive

That night, by the fire, she told me why she’d really come.

David’s life insurance company had refused to pay the claim.

A million-dollar policy, the one he’d bought when their first child was born. The insurer had found a clause about “hazardous recreational activities.” They were arguing that wading a river in October was reckless, and the policy didn’t cover it.

On top of that, they’d hinted at something worse. They’d suggested he might have gone into the river on purpose.

If it was ruled a suicide within the policy’s contestability period, they wouldn’t pay a cent.

Diane had two kids in college. A mortgage. She’d already gone through most of their savings fighting the claim.

“I don’t believe it,” she said. “I don’t believe he’d leave us. But I wasn’t here. You were.”

I looked into the fire for a long time.

Then I told her the truth.

David and I had sat on the dock that last night and talked for two hours. About the war. About the nightmares. About how much he loved her and how scared he was that he’d never be the man he was before.

“Then he said he was going to make one last cast before dark,” I told her. “He was smiling. He said, ‘Tell Diane I caught the big one.'”

I’d never told anyone that. Not the sheriff. Not anyone.

“I should have gone with him,” I said. “I’ve thought about it every day for two years.”

Diane reached over and put her hand on mine.

“Will you say that,” she asked, “to a lawyer?”