Chapter 4
We spent the rest of the day at the cottage.
Lila made coffee.
I walked the property, running my hand over the pine trees, still half convinced I’d wake up back in my truck, broke and alone.
There was a small shed out back.
Inside, brand new construction tools.
Top of the line.
The kind I’d stared at through hardware store windows for years, too broke to even dream of buying.
A note was taped to the drill: For the business you said you’d start. Don’t waste it.
I sat down on a cinder block, the note in my hand, and let it sink in.
Evelyn hadn’t just paid off my debt.
She’d bought me a future.
The one I’d given up on years before.
When we drove back to town that night, Lila said she had something to show me.
She took me to the yellow house on Oak Street.
The one that was supposed to be mine.
The one she’d inherited.
She unlocked the door, flipped on the light.
It smelled exactly the same.
Cinnamon and old books and Evelyn’s lavender soap.
My chest ached so bad I could barely breathe.
“I’m not going to sell it,” Lila said, walking into the living room. “Evelyn grew up here. Her and Arthur raised me here, after my parents died. It’s home.”
She turned to me.
“But it’s your home too. Whenever you want. The guest room is always made up. The coffee pot will always be on for you. Just like she used to do.”
I nodded, unable to speak.
We walked into the kitchen.
The calendar was still on the wall, turned to the month Evelyn died.
I’d marked an X on every day we’d been married, hidden on the back of each page, counting down.
I walked over, flipped the pages.
On the back of the last page, right under my last X, Evelyn had written in pencil:
I see you counting. It’s okay. I’m counting too. Every day I get to be your wife is a gift.
I slid down the wall, sat on the floor, and cried until I had no tears left.
Lila sat next to me, put her arm around my shoulders, and didn’t say a word.
The next morning, we went through the rest of the shoebox.
There was a USB drive.
A bank account number, with $150,000 in it.
For my mom’s future care. For the business. For whatever I needed.
And a handwritten note, stapled to the account papers:
No guilt allowed. This is for the life you deserve. Live it well. For me.
I was just starting to think maybe everything would be okay when the front door slammed open.
A man stormed in, face red, yelling.
Mark.
Evelyn’s nephew.
The one who’d called me the worst names at the funeral.
The one who’d only visited Evelyn once a year, every Christmas, to ask for money.
He pointed a finger at me, spitting mad.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing in here? This house belongs to family. Not some trash who married an old woman for her money.”
Lila stood up, stepped between us.
“Get out, Mark. This is my house now. Evelyn left it to me. You have no right to be here.”
Mark laughed, a harsh ugly sound.
“Left it to you? Sure she did. After this little con artist manipulated her into changing the will. I know what he did. He pressured her. Scared her. That will isn’t worth the paper it’s written on.”
He pulled a stack of papers out of his jacket, threw them on the table.
Court summons.
He was contesting the will.
Claiming I’d exerted undue influence over Evelyn.
Claiming the age gap proved I’d tricked her.
Claiming everything— the house, the shelter money, the cottage, the bank account— should be his.
“Evelyn was senile,” he snarled, looking right at me. “She didn’t know what she was doing the last year of her life. You brainwashed her. And I’m going to prove it in court. You’ll end up with nothing. Worse than nothing. You’ll go to jail for elder abuse.”
He turned to Lila.
“And you? If you keep siding with this thief, I’ll make sure you get nothing too. I’ll drag this through the press. Tell everyone what a gold digger you let into the family. Ruin all of us.”
He slammed the door on his way out.
The house went quiet.
Lila looked at me, fear on her face for the first time.
“He can’t do that, right? The will is legal. Evelyn was of sound mind.”
I picked up the summons, my hands cold.
I knew how this looked.
25-year-old kid with nothing marries a 71-year-old woman with money.
She dies 18 months later, leaves him a fortune in property and cash.
A jury would eat me alive.
Mark was right about one thing.
I was going to lose everything.
May you like
Unless I could prove Evelyn knew exactly what she was doing.
And that she’d loved me, despite all my flaws.
