PART 2 — MY NEW HUSBAND LOOKED ME IN THE EYES AND LIED ABOUT THE MONEY FIVE DAYS AFTER OUR WEDDING, SO I KEPT QUIET ABOUT THE $38 MILLION HE STILL DIDN’T KNOW I HAD—AND WAITED TO SEE HOW FAR HE AND HIS SON WOULD GO
The LLC had scared me.
The emails had wounded me.
But this was different.
Because Elden wasn’t confused.
He wasn’t embarrassed.
He wasn’t avoiding an uncomfortable conversation.
He looked directly into my eyes and lied.
I knew because Christine had already sent me photographs.
At 11:14 Tuesday morning, Elden had entered the offices of Harcourt Commercial Lending in downtown Nashville.
At 12:37, he had walked out beside Dean and two men identified as senior lending officers.
The meeting had lasted more than an hour.
There was also a calendar invitation Christine had obtained from documents circulated among the hotel investors.
Project Completion Financing — Sayers Group.
Attendees:
Elden Sayers.
Dean Sayers.
Galen Whitlow.
Harcourt Commercial Lending.
And beside the agenda was a sentence that made my stomach tighten.
Discussion of additional family collateral and liquidity.
I looked at my husband standing in our kitchen.
“Okay,” I said.
That was all.
Elden frowned.
“Okay?”
“Yes.”
“You believe me?”
I looked at the man I had married less than two weeks earlier.
“I heard your answer.”
Those were not the same thing.
He apparently didn’t notice.
His shoulders relaxed.
That was when I understood something that changed the way I handled everything afterward.
People become careless when they believe their lie worked.
So I stopped confronting him.
I stopped asking about the hotel.
I stopped mentioning the LLC.
I stopped demanding explanations about Dean.
Instead, I watched.
And I protected myself.
The next morning, I met Christine at her office.
She closed the conference-room door and placed a legal pad between us.
“Before we do anything else,” she said, “I need you to answer a question.”
“What?”
“Does Elden know about Jack’s estate?”
“Some of it.”
“How much?”
“He knows Jack left me comfortable.”
“That word is doing a lot of work.”
Despite everything, I smiled.
Christine had known Jack for almost twenty years.
She knew exactly what “comfortable” meant.
Jack had spent most of our marriage building and acquiring specialized medical-supply companies.
He lived modestly.
He drove the same Lexus for twelve years.
He hated expensive watches.
He thought spending seven dollars on coffee was evidence civilization had lost its way.
Most people who met him never suspected how wealthy he had become.
When cancer took him, his estate planning had been meticulous.
After taxes, charitable gifts, trusts established for Cecily and our grandchildren, and several business dispositions, approximately thirty-eight million dollars had passed to me through a combination of investments, cash reserves, and privately managed assets.
The Brentwood house wasn’t part of that thirty-eight million.
Neither were Cecily’s trusts.
Neither was a separate charitable foundation Jack had established.
Elden knew none of this.
When we began dating, I told him Jack had left me financially secure.
When we became engaged, Christine prepared an extensive prenuptial agreement.
The prenup disclosed categories of separate property as legally required, but the detailed schedules were handled through counsel, and Elden had never shown much curiosity about exact values.
At the time, I interpreted that as proof he wasn’t interested in my money.
Now I wondered whether he simply believed the house was the easiest asset he could see.
“Does he know the number?” Christine asked.
“No.”
“Does Dean?”
“No.”
“Does anyone in their family?”
“No.”
“Keep it that way.”
I looked at her.
“For how long?”
“Until we understand whether you married a man who made one terrible financial decision or a man who married you as part of one.”
That sentence stayed with me.
I hated it.
But I couldn’t dismiss it.
Christine slid another document toward me.
“Your prenup is strong. The house remains separate property. Jack’s inherited assets remain separate property. Elden has no management rights over them.”
“What if I die?”
“Your current estate plan governs.”
“And Elden receives?”
“The marital trust you established before the wedding, plus the specific personal property and lifetime housing provisions you chose.”
I nodded.
I had not left Elden penniless.
Far from it.
If I died first, he would have financial security.
But he would never control Jack’s legacy.
That distinction had mattered deeply to me.
Jack and I had built that life together.
Cecily was our daughter.
Our grandchildren were his grandchildren.
I was willing to build something new with Elden.
I was never willing to rewrite the life that came before him.
Christine leaned back.
“June, I want you to consider moving certain accounts.”
“Why?”
“Not because Elden can legally access them. He can’t. But if this gets ugly, simplicity matters.”
By Friday, we had done exactly that.
Account alerts were strengthened.
Authorization requirements changed.
My estate documents were reviewed again.
The Brentwood deed was flagged against unauthorized filings.
Christine arranged monitoring for any attempt to record liens, deeds, or other interests against the property.
I also removed several financial documents from my home office and placed them in a secure document vault.
Elden noticed none of it.
Instead, he became unusually affectionate.
Flowers appeared on Saturday.
Sunday morning, he made pancakes.
Monday evening, he suggested we plan a trip to Italy.
And every night, he talked about our future.
I listened.
Sometimes I even smiled.
But underneath the dinner conversations, something had changed.
I no longer listened only to what he said.
I listened for what he wanted.
Three days later, he finally asked.
We were sitting on the back patio after dinner.
“Have you thought any more about the house structure?”
I took a sip of tea.
“A little.”
His expression remained casual.
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking I don’t understand why it matters so much.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Then let’s forget about it.”
He paused.
Only for a second.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
“I mean there are advantages.”
“For whom?”
“For us.”
“What advantages do I receive?”
“Asset protection.”
“Protection from what?”
“Liability. Estate issues. Taxes.”
“My attorney says the house is already appropriately protected.”
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“Christine is very conservative.”
“She’s very good.”
“I’m not saying she isn’t.”
“Then we agree.”
I smiled and changed the subject.
The following afternoon, Dean called me.
He had never called me casually before.
“June, can we grab coffee?”
“Why?”
“I think we got off on the wrong foot.”
That almost made me laugh.
“You arrived at my house five days after I married your father with an attorney and paperwork transferring my home into your LLC.”
“When you say it like that, it sounds terrible.”
“How would you say it?”
He chuckled nervously.
“Fair point.”
I agreed to meet him at a café in Green Hills.
But before I went, I called Christine.
“Public place,” she said. “Do not sign anything. Do not discuss your assets. And June?”
“Yes?”
“Let him talk.”
Dean was already there when I arrived.
No attorney.
No folder.
Just coffee.
For the first fifteen minutes, he apologized.
He said the timing had been terrible.
He said Elden loved me.
He said the hotel project had created pressure.
Then he made the mistake Christine had predicted.
He talked too much.
“We only need temporary collateral.”
I set down my cup.
“We?”
“The project.”
“How temporary?”
“Maybe eighteen months.”
“And if the hotel fails?”
“It won’t.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Dean looked uncomfortable.
“The property market in Knoxville is strong.”
“That still wasn’t my question.”
He leaned back.
“Worst-case scenario, there are restructuring options.”
“Meaning my house could be at risk.”
“It would be extremely unlikely.”
“So yes.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“You’re making this sound predatory.”
“I’m repeating what you’re telling me.”
“We’re not trying to take your house.”
“Then stop trying to put it into your company.”
He became quiet.
For a moment, I thought the conversation was over.
Then he said something unexpected.
“Dad said you had other assets.”
I didn’t react.
“What other assets?”
“I don’t know. Investments.”
“Most adults my age have investments.”
“He said you were in a position where this wouldn’t really affect you.”
There it was.
I kept my face neutral.
“When did he say that?”
“A while ago.”
“Before or after we got married?”
Dean realized the trap too late.
“Before.”
“How long before?”
He looked down at his coffee.
“Maybe a month.”
A month before our wedding, Elden had been discussing my ability to absorb losses with his son.
“Did your father tell you how much money I have?”
“No.”
“Did he ask?”
Dean hesitated.
“No.”
That hesitation mattered.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Did Galen?”
“No.”
“Did any lender?”
Dean looked irritated.
“June, nobody is investigating you.”
I smiled slightly.
“I didn’t say anyone was.”
He stopped talking.
There it was again.
People become careless when frightened.
I left twenty minutes later.
From my car, I called Christine.
“They’ve been trying to estimate my assets.”
“I suspected that.”
“How?”
“Because Harcourt ran a property search on you.”
My fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
“When?”
“Two days after your wedding.”
“Can they do that?”
“Public property records? Absolutely.”
“What did they find?”
“The Brentwood house. Another small parcel you inherited from your parents years ago. Nothing meaningful about Jack’s estate.”
“Good.”
“There’s more.”
Of course there was.
“Galen Whitlow contacted a wealth-management firm.”
“About me?”
“We believe so.”
“What did he ask?”
“Whether they had records connected to Jack’s old companies.”
My stomach turned.
“How would you know?”
“Someone at the firm knew Jack and called me.”
Jack.
Even dead, he was still protecting me through people who remembered him.
“What did Galen learn?”
“Almost nothing.”
“Almost?”
“He learned that Jack’s estate was substantially larger than public probate records suggested.”
I closed my eyes.
“How much larger?”
“They didn’t tell him.”
“Does Elden know?”
“I don’t know.”
That evening, Elden was in the shower when his phone lit up on the bedroom dresser.
I didn’t touch it.
I didn’t need to.
The message preview appeared on the screen.
DEAN: Galen thinks Jack had serious money. We need to talk before she moves anything.
My entire body went cold.
Before she moves anything.
Not if.
Before.
They believed there was something to find.
And they were worried I might protect it before they did.
I walked downstairs.
When Elden joined me twenty minutes later, I was reading a novel.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Perfect.”
He kissed my forehead.
I kept reading.
The next morning, Christine called at 7:12.
“I need you in my office.”
“What happened?”
“Galen contacted us.”
“Your firm?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He wants clarification regarding the prenup.”
My stomach tightened.
“What clarification?”
“He specifically asked whether inherited assets could ever become marital property through commingling.”
I sat on the edge of my bed.
“Why would my husband’s son’s attorney be asking my attorney about that?”
“He shouldn’t be.”
“Did you answer?”
“I told him he represents neither you nor this firm and that we would not discuss your finances.”
“What did he say?”
“He claimed Elden requested the inquiry.”
I looked toward the bathroom where my husband was shaving.
“He didn’t mention anything.”
“I assumed he wouldn’t.”
“What do I do?”
“Nothing yet.”
I lowered my voice.
“Christine, I need to know whether Elden married me for money.”
There was a long silence.
“I can’t answer that.”
“I know.”
“But I can help you find out what he does when he believes money is available.”
That became our strategy.
Not a trap.
Not exactly.
We simply stopped correcting an assumption Elden was already making.
That weekend, I casually mentioned over breakfast that Christine was helping me reorganize “some of Jack’s old investments.”
Elden’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth.
“Anything interesting?”
“Mostly paperwork.”
“How much paperwork?”
I laughed.
“A ridiculous amount.”
He smiled.
But his eyes changed.
“What kind of investments?”
“Old business interests. Funds. Things I haven’t looked at in years.”
“Worth much?”
I looked directly at him.
“I’ve always had enough.”
Then I returned to my coffee.
For the rest of breakfast, he barely touched his food.
That afternoon, he disappeared into his office for nearly two hours.
At 4:18, Dean’s car pulled into the driveway.
They stayed behind the closed office door.
I didn’t listen.
I didn’t need to.
At 5:06, Christine texted me.
Galen just requested another meeting.
The next three days were almost surreal.
Elden became interested in every aspect of my finances.
Had Jack owned commercial real estate?
Did I still hold shares in his companies?
Was Cecily involved in managing anything?
Did I have trusts?
Had Jack used offshore accounts?
I answered almost every question the same way.
“Christine handles most of it.”
By Wednesday, Elden hated Christine.
“She has too much influence over you.”
“She’s my attorney.”
“You’re married now.”
“Yes.”
“You should be able to discuss finances with your husband.”
“I agree.”
His expression softened.
Then I added, “Why don’t you show me every financial statement connected to the Knoxville hotel?”
His face changed.
“That’s business.”
“And my inheritance is personal.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
He had no answer.
Friday evening, I came home and found Elden sitting at the kitchen island.
Dean was beside him.
Galen Whitlow sat across from them.
The navy folder had returned.
This time, it was thicker.
I stopped in the doorway.
“What is this?”
Elden stood.
“Please sit down.”
“No.”
“June.”
“What is the attorney doing in my kitchen?”
Galen cleared his throat.
“We’re trying to resolve the misunderstanding.”
“What misunderstanding?”
“The property issue.”
“There is no property issue. I own my house. I’m keeping my house.”
Dean sighed.
“This isn’t only about the house anymore.”
Elden shot him a look.
I noticed.
“What else is it about?”
Dean looked at his father.
“Tell her.”
“Dean.”
“She needs to know.”
“Know what?”
Elden rubbed his forehead.
“The hotel financing is in worse shape than I told you.”
“How much worse?”
“We need approximately $2.4 million.”
Christine’s estimate had been slightly lower.
“And?”
“If we don’t secure it within thirty days, we could lose the project.”
“Then you lose the project.”
Dean stared at me.
“You say that like it’s nothing.”
“To me, it is.”
“My father has everything invested.”
I looked at Elden.
“Everything?”
He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“How much?”
“Most of my liquid assets.”
“And your retirement?”
He remained silent.
“Elden.”
“Some.”
My stomach sank.
“You risked your retirement?”
“I believed in the project.”
“Did you do that before or after proposing to me?”
Silence.
Dean jumped in.
“That’s not relevant.”
“It is extremely relevant to me.”
Elden finally whispered, “Before.”
There it was.
When Elden asked me to marry him, he was already financially exposed.
“How much debt?”
“June—”
“How much?”
“About $3.1 million personally guaranteed.”
I stared at him.
The man I thought was financially comfortable was potentially facing ruin.
And he had never told me.
Not before our engagement.
Not before the prenup.
Not before the wedding.
“You married me knowing this.”
“I married you because I love you.”
“Those two things can both be true.”
He looked wounded.
I no longer rushed to comfort him.
Galen opened the folder.
“There may be a solution that protects everyone.”
I laughed.
“I’m beginning to hate that word.”
“What word?”
“Protect.”
He slid a document toward me.
“This would be a secured private loan.”
“From whom?”
Elden looked at me.
“From you.”
I stared at him.
“You don’t know what I have.”
“No.”
“Then how do you know I can lend you $2.4 million?”
Silence.
Dean answered.
“We know Jack left more than you’ve said.”
The room became very still.
“How much do you think he left me?”
Dean looked at Galen.
Galen looked down.
Elden finally said, “Enough.”
I almost smiled.
That word.
Enough.
People reveal themselves through words like that.
Enough for whom?
Enough for what?
Enough to risk because someone else wants it?
I walked to the kitchen counter and picked up my phone.
“June,” Elden said, “please don’t call Christine yet.”
“Why?”
“Because I want us to discuss this as husband and wife.”
I looked at him.
“Were we husband and wife when you met with Harcourt on Tuesday?”
His face went blank.
Dean looked at him.
Galen stopped moving.
“You told me you didn’t meet with lenders.”
Elden said nothing.
“I gave you a chance to tell me the truth.”
“June—”
“You looked me directly in the eyes.”
“I was trying to keep you out of the stress.”
“No. You were trying to keep me uninformed until you needed my signature.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Neither was forming an LLC seventeen days before our wedding so you could put my house into it.”
Dean stood.
“Nobody forced you.”
“You arrived with an attorney five days after my wedding.”
“And you said no.”
“Yes.”
“And nothing happened.”
I looked at him.
“Nothing happened because I said no.”
He fell silent.
Then I did something none of them expected.
I sat down.
“Fine.”
Elden blinked.
“What?”
“You want to talk about money? Let’s talk.”
Hope appeared on Dean’s face.
That hurt more than anger would have.
I pointed toward the folder.
“What are you offering?”
Galen immediately shifted into attorney mode.
“A secured loan at market interest, collateralized by Elden’s project interest and—”
“No.”
He stopped.
“I want Elden to explain it.”
My husband sat across from me.
“We need $2.4 million.”
“For how long?”
“Eighteen to twenty-four months.”
“What happens if the project fails?”
“You’d have a secured claim.”
“Against an unfinished hotel?”
“Against my ownership interest.”
“Which becomes worthless if the hotel fails.”
“Not worthless.”
“Potentially worthless.”
He looked down.
“Yes.”
“And you were willing to risk my house before telling me that?”
Silence.
“Elden?”
“Yes.”
Something inside me finally settled.
Not broke.
Settled.
There is a moment in some relationships when confusion ends.
The facts stop competing with hope.
You see the situation exactly as it is.
I stood.
“I’m not lending you the money.”
Dean slammed his palm against the table.
“Two million dollars could save everything!”
“Then find someone willing to risk two million dollars.”
“You can afford it!”
There.
The room froze.
I looked at him.
“How do you know?”
Dean realized what he had said.
Galen closed his eyes.
Elden whispered, “Dean.”
“No,” I said. “Let him answer.”
Dean’s face reddened.
“I’m assuming.”
“Based on what?”
“Your lifestyle.”
“I live in a house I bought decades ago.”
“Jack owned companies.”
“So?”
“Everybody knows he sold them.”
“Everybody?”
Dean looked toward his father.
And suddenly I understood.
“Elden told you.”
Elden stood.
“June, please.”
“What exactly did you tell him?”
“Nothing specific.”
“Did you investigate Jack’s estate?”
Silence.
“Did you?”
“I asked questions.”
“When?”
He didn’t answer.
“Before or after our wedding?”
Still nothing.
My heart began pounding.
“Before or after you proposed?”
Elden looked away.
That was the answer.
I felt something colder than heartbreak.
“When?”
“June—”
“When did you first start investigating my finances?”
He finally whispered, “Last year.”
We had been dating for eleven months.
He proposed eight months ago.
Our wedding had been less than three weeks earlier.
“You investigated my dead husband’s estate before asking me to marry you.”
“I wanted to understand what we were combining.”
“We weren’t combining Jack’s estate.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew it then. We discussed it.”
“I didn’t know the scale.”
The scale.
I stared at him.
“What scale?”
He realized the mistake.
Too late.
“What number did you find?”
“I didn’t.”
“Then what scale?”
“June.”
“What number?”
Nobody spoke.
I turned toward Galen.
“You’re an attorney. I suggest you think carefully before participating in another lie in my house.”
Galen removed his glasses.
“We never confirmed an exact figure.”
“But you estimated one.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
Dean interrupted.
“This is ridiculous.”
I ignored him.
“How much, Mr. Whitlow?”
He looked at Elden.
Then at me.
“Between fifteen and twenty-five million.”
I almost laughed.
They had underestimated Jack by more than thirteen million dollars.
And yet even their lower estimate had been enough to change how they treated me.
I looked at Elden.
“So you believed I had perhaps twenty million dollars when you married me.”
“It had nothing to do with why I married you.”
“Then why hide your debt?”
“I was ashamed.”
“Why create the LLC before the wedding?”
“Because Dean suggested it.”
“Why describe family assets to lenders?”
“I was desperate.”
“Why lie about the Tuesday meeting?”
“I was afraid you would leave.”
I nodded slowly.
Finally.
A truthful answer.
“You were right.”
His face changed.
“June.”
“I want you out of my house.”
Dean stood.
“You’re ending your marriage over a business disagreement?”
“No.”
I looked directly at Elden.
“I’m ending it because I no longer know which parts of our relationship existed before you calculated what I might be worth.”
Elden’s eyes filled.
“I love you.”
“I believe you might.”
That surprised him.
“But love without honesty isn’t enough for me.”
He came around the table.
I stepped backward.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
“Give me one chance.”
“I already did.”
“When?”
“Every time I asked you the truth.”
The room went silent.
Then the doorbell rang.
Everyone looked toward the hallway.
I already knew who it was.
Christine entered with another attorney from her firm.
Elden stared at me.
“You planned this?”
“I prepared for it.”
Christine placed a document envelope on the kitchen island.
“Mr. Sayers, my client is formally notifying you that all permissions to access, manage, pledge, represent, or otherwise encumber her separate property are expressly denied.”
Dean laughed bitterly.
“We already know she won’t help.”
Christine looked at him.
“I wasn’t speaking to you.”
His smile disappeared.
She continued.
“We also discovered something this afternoon.”
Elden’s expression changed.
“What?”
Christine looked at me first.
I nodded.
Then she placed a document on the table.
“A preliminary financing application submitted to Cumberland Regional Capital.”
Galen immediately leaned forward.
“I haven’t seen that.”
“I believe you.”
That was interesting.
Christine turned the document toward me.
At the bottom was a list of proposed supporting assets.
The Brentwood residence.
Estimated value: $1.7 million.
Various family investment holdings.
Estimated liquidity: $10 million plus.
And beside the section marked OWNER CONSENT STATUS were three words.
Consent anticipated post-closing.
I stared at Elden.
“What does that mean?”
He said nothing.
Christine answered.
“It appears someone represented that June’s consent to use her assets would be obtained after financing approval.”
“I never consented.”
“I know.”
“Who submitted it?”
Christine pointed toward the signature page.
Elden Sayers.
My husband sank into a chair.
Dean stared at him.
Even he seemed surprised.
“Dad?”
Elden covered his face.
“I was trying to buy time.”
“With my property.”
“I thought once you understood—”
“No.”
I didn’t raise my voice.
I didn’t need to.
“You thought once the financing depended on me, I would feel too guilty to say no.”
He looked at me.
And the saddest part was that he didn’t deny it.
Christine gathered the papers.
“Elden, you should retain independent counsel regarding the separation.”
“Separation?”
He looked at me.
“We’ve been married less than three weeks.”
“I know.”
“June, please.”
I walked toward the stairs.
Then stopped.
There was one final thing I wanted to know.
I turned back.
“If the hotel project had been fully funded, would you ever have told me about your debt before we married?”
Elden stared at the floor.
That silence was the answer.
I went upstairs.
He moved out two days later.
Dean never apologized.
Galen stopped contacting me directly.
And Christine began the process of unwinding a marriage that had barely started.
I thought the worst part was over.
I was wrong.
Because eleven days after Elden moved out, Christine called me just after 8:00 in the morning.
Her voice was unusually tense.
“June, are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Lock your doors.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“Because Dean knows.”
“Knows what?”
There was a pause.
Then she said it.
“The amount.”
I stopped breathing.
“What amount?”
“Jack’s inheritance.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“How?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Does Elden know too?”
“I believe so.”
“How much do they know?”
“All of it.”
Thirty-eight million dollars.
The number I had protected through our entire relationship.
The number I had never told Elden.
The number I had never told Dean.
“How did they find out?”
“We’re tracing it.”
Then my doorbell rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
I walked toward the security monitor.
A black SUV was parked outside.
Dean stood on my porch.
But he wasn’t alone.
Beside him was a woman I had never seen before.
She carried a thick red folder.
Christine heard the bell through the phone.
“June, do not open that door.”
I zoomed in on the woman’s face.
“Who is she?”
“I don’t know.”
Then Dean looked directly into my security camera and held up a document.
Even through the monitor, I could read the heading.
PETITION TO INVALIDATE PRENUPTIAL AGREEMENT.
My heart began pounding.
Dean pressed the doorbell again.
Then the woman beside him stepped toward the camera.
“Mrs. Sayers, my name is Meredith Cole. I represent Elden Sayers.”
I said nothing.
She continued.
“We need to discuss the thirty-eight million dollars you failed to disclose before your marriage.”
Christine heard every word.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she said quietly, “June, this just became much bigger than the house.”
I stared at Dean through the monitor.
He was smiling.
Not warmly.
Confidently.
As if learning the true size of Jack’s inheritance had changed the game.
What Dean didn’t know was that Christine had discovered something else that morning.
Something hidden inside the LLC records.
Something involving Elden’s signature.
And something dated not seventeen days before our wedding…
but nearly six months before Elden had even proposed to me.
Please Click Here to Continuous Read Story👉PART 3 — MY HUSBAND CAME AFTER THE $38 MILLION HE NEVER KNEW I HAD, BUT THE DOCUMENT HIS OWN SON FORGOT TO HIDE PROVED THEY HAD BEEN PLANNING AROUND MY FORTUNE MONTHS BEFORE HE EVER ASKED ME TO MARRY HIM
