I thought learning to live without him would be the hardest part.
I was wrong.
Three weeks later, as I prepared food in the kitchen while Elliot babbled nearby, someone knocked on the door—hard, impatient, demanding.
Through the window, I saw them.
The relatives.
I opened the door without inviting them inside.
“We’re here about the house,” the eldest said, already holding a folder.
“It’s settled,” I replied. “Everything was arranged.”
He smiled thinly.
“That marriage won’t hold up. A young woman marrying an elderly man for property? Judges see through that every day.”
My hands shook as I closed the door behind them.
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