Agnes Whitaker snatched the envelope with such a sudden, sharp motion that every head snapped up and the silverware on the table clattered. Her fingertips, lacquered in a dark crimson, dug into the paper as if they were claws. The solicitor, Mr. Hughes, placed his cool, steady hand over hers.
Im sorry, madam, he said evenly, this does not belong to you.
A heavy hush fell over the room. Only the ticking of the mantle clock and the distant cry of a child playing in the garden could be heard. Edward curled into his chair, as though he might disappear; the woman beside him watched with puzzled curiosity, understanding nothing.
I stood frozen. Ten years ago I would have trembled, begged them not to humiliate me. Now I knew their power over me had finally ended.
Mr. Hughes tore open the envelope and pulled out a handful of folded sheets. The first bore the signature of my late fatherinlawThomas Whitaker, who had died only months before. The solicitors voice was clear and firm.
The will was drawn up three months before his death. The sole beneficiary is Eleanor Whitaker.
A ripple of murmurs surged through the relatives. Aunts exchanged looks, cousins cleared their throats, a child giggled without grasping the gravity.
What?! shrieked Agnes Whitaker. This is a lie! He would never have done that!
It is written in black and white, the solicitor continued. I leave all my estate, including the house and the land, to the former wife of my son, who did not leave the family of her own accord but was cast out. He even left an explanation why.
Edward whispered an apology. His new wife recoiled from him as if he were a stranger.
I inhaled deeply. I had known about the will long before this meeting, but hearing it spoken aloud, in front of everyone, carried a weight of its own.
So this the motherinlaw rasped. He always pitied you! Always! And now you want to take the house from us?
I rose. My voice was calm, yet as hard as steel:
I am taking nothing. You robbed me of ten years of my life when you drove me out. But your husband saw everything. He chose a different path.
Dont you dare! she roared. Youre nothing!
I am the rightful owner of this house, I replied without hesitation.
Silence thickened. Every gaze settled on me.
But I added after a pause, I wont chase you off. I have my own home and my own business. All I seek is justice.
Edward lifted his eyes, as if he could not believe what he was hearing:
So youll let us stay?
I grant you the right to live here, I explained. The property is mine. That means you no longer have the power to demean me.
Agnes Whitaker looked shattered, her voice trembling to a whisper:
You want to ruin me
I met her eye to eye:
No. I want you to feel what its like to rely on someone elses will.
Mr. Hughes gathered the documents and stood.
Everything is legally sound. From today, the owner is Mrs. Eleanor Whitaker.
I gave a short nod and stepped outside. The air was crisp, the sun sinking behind the ancient pear tree in the garden. I walked lightly, as if I were floating.
Baxter, my old terrier, had long since passed, yet I could almost hear his familiar bark echoing again, this time not to chase a fleeing woman but to herald a triumph.
I smiled and moved forward, because no one could ever call me nobody again. I was myself, and that was enough to reclaim my dignity and my life.
