At 73 I married my high school sweetheart to grant his final wish—then his lawyer told me after the funeral, ‘You walked right into his trap’
A few days later, Raymond showed up at my apartment door, furious and waving a folder of legal threats. Luckily, Walter was already sitting at my kitchen table having tea. He calmly looked up and told Raymond that the trust Thomas had set up was entirely airtight, and that if he tried to fight it in court, he’d lose everything.
Raymond glared at me, sneering, “Stupid old lady.”
I just looked back at him and said, “No, Raymond. I’m a woman who was actually loved. There’s a difference.” He turned on his heel and never came back.
That spring, I moved into Thomas’s old house. Now, every Sunday morning, I make myself a cup of black coffee, sit by the window, and open one of his letters. Some of them are about his daily routine, others are about what he wished our life had been, but they all remind me of one thing: I was never forgotten. Even after he was gone, Thomas had found a way to keep me safe.
