I choked on a laugh since my entire life had been a transaction, working myself to the bone for every scrap of security. But somewhere between the tea, the open curtains, and the way he’d reach for my hand at traffic lights, the acting stopped. I married him because I was exhausted, but I stayed because I genuinely loved him.
Then came November. The doctors gave him six weeks.
The day before he passed, Marlene blocked me from entering his room. “He’s resting,” she said “Don’t make a scene.”
I was his wife; I had every right to push past her. But her hands were shaking, and the nurses were staring. I didn’t want Russell’s last memories to be the sound of shouting in the hallway. So, I sat on a plastic chair for three hours. When she finally left to get coffee, I slipped inside.
He looked so small under the white sheets, but he managed to squeeze my wrist. “Don’t fight them. Just trust me.”
“I don’t care about the money or the house, Russell.”
“I know,” he whispered. “That’s why.”
At his funeral, his three adult children lined up in a compact formation like a concrete wall. Everyone offered condolences to them, completely ignoring me. Standing in front of his casket, I sobbed not only for losing him but for being treated like a fraud.
The following day, we all met at the lawyer’s office. Marlene was sitting opposite me with her legs crossed, appearing like a judge about to pronounce the verdict. “How nice of you to grace us with your presence,” she said. “When do you plan on leaving? You’re probably packing already.”
My hands clenched around one another so she wouldn’t notice them trembling. In the middle of the desk there was a simple wooden box, but no legal papers.
The lawyer corrected his glasses. “Russell insisted that I give this box to Elena personally.”
