I remembered Thomas at seventeen, standing outside my parents’ house with soaked hair and muddy shoes.
Back then, he had nothing.
Neither did I.
The letter continued.
“I have heard the comments they make when they think I’m not listening.
I know what they will try to do if I die before you.
So I have already taken care of everything.”
I looked up at the attorney.
“What does that mean?”
He opened his briefcase.
“Keep reading.”
My heart began pounding.
Thomas had changed his estate months before our wedding.
But not in the way his children expected.
The mansion his daughter had thrown me out of?
It no longer belonged to his children.
It belonged to me.
Thomas had legally transferred ownership into a trust naming me as the sole beneficiary for the rest of my life.
I stared at the attorney.
“That can’t be right.”
“It is.”
“But they told me the house was theirs.”
“They were wrong.”
My hands covered my mouth.
The attorney continued.
“There’s more.”
Apparently, Thomas had also left me a separate investment account large enough that I would never have to worry about rent, bills, or medical expenses again.
I shook my head immediately.
“I don’t want it.”
The attorney smiled slightly.
