Rachel’s ex-husband left her everything — his house, his stocks, even his prized vintage car. But here’s the catch: he left his widow and newborn child with nothing for a reason that shook everyone. What would you do if you were her?
Keep it, or hand it over?
What would you do if the man who broke your heart left you everything?
And by EVERYTHING, I mean his house, his stocks, and even his prized car — while leaving his widow and newborn child with NOTHING. Would you take it?
Or would guilt swallow you whole?
When the solicitor called to tell me I’d inherited my ex-husband Todd’s entire estate, my first reaction was to laugh. Not a joyous laugh — more of a “has hell frozen over?” kind of laugh.
Todd — the same man who once told me he couldn’t afford child support — had apparently left me his suburban home, all his investments, and Pearl, his precious vintage car that no one was allowed to touch.
“Miss Rachel?” the solicitor’s voice wavered.
“Are you still there?”
“WAS THIS SOME KIND OF MISTAKE?” I whispered, my fingers trembling against the phone.
“Todd wouldn’t…”
“I assure you, ma’am, there’s no mistake. Your ex-husband was very explicit in his wishes.”
I couldn’t believe what I heard. For 15 years, Todd and I had built a life together.
We had three kids, a house with a porch swing, and what I thought was a solid marriage.
Then, out of nowhere, he’d told me he was “tired of everything.” Translation? He was having an affair with Angela, his 25-year-old secretary, who he was apparently “helping rebuild her credit.”
I remember that conversation like it was yesterday.
We were sitting in our kitchen, the same kitchen where we’d shared thousands of meals, where we’d taught our kids to bake cookies, and where we’d slow-danced at midnight.
“I just need some space, Rachel,” he’d said, refusing to meet my eyes. “Everything feels so… heavy.”
“Heavy?” I’d echoed, my voice breaking.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing!” he said, but something about how he had said it felt off.
The joint credit card statement addressed to “Todd and Angela” showed up in our mailbox one morning.
That’s how I found out. I confronted him, my hands shaking as I held up the envelope.
“She’s just a friend,” he stammered, his face pale. “She needed help with her credit —”
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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