Five years later, William died.
During those years, he taught Sophie how to play chess, attended her school events, and became much more to me than simply the man I had married because I was desperate.
After his death, I assumed that at least the house would remain ours.
But the day after the funeral, his lawyer arrived.
He sat across from me and said:
“William knew you would fall into this entire trap.”
I froze.
“What trap?”
The lawyer opened a folder, studied the documents inside for several seconds, then looked up at me.
“First, there is something you need to hear. According to William’s official will, you will receive nothing from his estate. Not the house. Not the money. Not a single cent.”
It felt as if someone had struck me in the chest.
“That’s impossible… I was his wife.”
The lawyer didn’t answer.
Instead, he reached into his briefcase, pulled out a thick white envelope, and placed it on the table.
My name was written across the front.
In William’s handwriting.
I reached for it, but the lawyer suddenly placed his hand over the envelope and stopped me.
“Before you open this, there is something you need to know.”
