“No,” Claire said.
“Nothing in this house belongs to you.”
She even removed the simple gold wedding band Thomas had placed on my finger when we married.
She said it belonged to the family.
So I left.
In the dress I had worn to bury my husband.
I moved into my late sister’s old trailer beside the county road.
For days, I barely slept.
Then, two weeks later, while I was hanging laundry outside, I heard tires on the gravel.
A black limousine stopped in front of the trailer.
A man in a gray suit stepped out.
He carried a sealed envelope.
My name was written across the front.
Margaret.
“Margaret,” he said gently. “I’m Thomas’s attorney. My name is Mr. Bennett.”
My stomach tightened.
He extended the envelope.
“Thomas left strict instructions that I deliver this personally.”
“Why?”
Mr. Bennett hesitated.
“Because your husband wanted to make absolutely sure you got exactly what you deserved.”
