He Hid His Billions Till Death

Summary

On Thanksgiving, my long-distance boyfriend sent me his usual check-in photo. He said he was stuck working the holiday shift, eating instant ramen in the security guard booth.

I pinched my fingers on the screen, zooming in.

Right at the edge of his desk, partially cut off by the frame, sat a half-eaten pork sausage roll.

Virgil is a devout Muslim. We had been together for five years. He was the kind of man who would grimace if my fork so much as brushed a plate that had touched lard. There was absolutely no way he would eat pork.