My dear lady, Reginald said, taking my hand and showing me his will. You are the sole beneficiary. Ive provided my daughter with everything she needs, so she will have no claim on you. His words warmed my heart, and I admired my English husband even more. I had thought a marriage contract or insurance unnecessary, trusting in his honour and kindness. I was wrong.
I met Reginald through an online penpal site. I longed to marry a foreigner. I lived in Manchester, retired, and could not find a partner of my own age. The idea of caring for an ailing old man at home held no appeal. Abroad, the elderly seemed spry, adventurous, even still travelling.
Reginald was seventysix; I was fiftyfive, the same age as his daughter Evelyn. Our correspondence lasted a year, during which we grew accustomed to each others temperaments.
Soon I flew to England, to the historic town of York, intent on marrying Reginald. An imposing, wellkept man met me at the station, clutching a modest bouquet of wilted roses. I wanted to turn back, but the drama had just begun. The withered flowers fell from my hands, scentless, as if a sign from above.
He escorted me to his grand house and offered a modest lunch for two. I asked for a vase for the sad roses; he handed me a glass of water. The moment I placed the blossoms in it, their petals crumbled to dust. Another omen.
Both of us understood that love would not blossom between us. I needed financial security; Reginald needed a companion to look after him. Two lonely seniors had found a convenient arrangement.
Reginald promised to leave all his assets to me when he passed. As it turned out, a promise is not the same as an act.
We were soon married, and I became Mrs. Morley. The ceremony was simple, attended only by Reginalds daughter Evelyn and her husband with three children, plus an old family friend. I was his third wife. In his first marriage he had twin daughters, Evelyn and Milly. Though he had once sworn against children, his first wife defied him and bore the twins. He grew to love them, but never forgave his wifes rebellion.
When the twins turned eighteen, Reginald left the family in a dramatic fashion. His wife could not survive his departure; she died in her sleep two years later. He left a threestorey house, a country cottage, three cars, and his business, which he transferred to Evelyn.
Reginald then courted an elderly spinster, seven years his senior, who also had no desire for children. Their life together was smooth until his new wife fell ill. Reginald tended to her with tenderness, massaging, feeding, even changing her nappies until she passed.
Tragedy struck again when Evelyn was found dead on a roadside under mysterious circumstances; her murderer was never identified. Reginald fell into deep depression. Their other daughter, Milly, never visited him.
After a period of mourning, Reginald resolved to marry again. He turned to an online dating site, where I first encountered him. Thus began my life as Mrs. Morley.
All the money was Reginalds. He appeared miserly, giving barely enough for groceries, scrutinising every receipt, demanding written accounts of any purchase. When I asked for a modest sum for cosmetics, he grimaced as though Id asked for a lemon. Still, each year we travelled on cruises and excursions a cherished dream of his.
I treated Reginald kindly, feeling sorry for his age, learning to cook his favourite dishes, looking after his health, staying by his side in good times and bad. Yet a cruel illness struck: a stroke. He was rushed to intensive care. I called his daughter Evelyn, who arrived instantly not to see her father, but to see me.
Sarah, she said, handing me their fathers revised will, listen to this: All movable and immovable property I bequeath to my daughter. To my wife I leave an amount to be determined by my daughter for a decent living.
Reginald had secretly altered the will in favour of Evelyn, hoping to ease his guilt for leaving his first wife and for the death of Evelyn, which he blamed on himself. Holding a grudge, Milly never visited him, and Reginald never met his grandchildren.
I expected that, after learning of the new will, I would stay by my husbands side. He was still alive, while his daughter plotted to claim his estate.
For six months I cared for Reginald in the hospital, feeding him with a spoon, gently stroking his hand, talking to him as he drifted in his own world, unable to recognise anyone. I had no intention of disputing the will with his entrepreneurial daughter, and Milly never set foot in the ward. Reginald died at eightytwo.
On the doorstep of the house I had shared with him, Milly appeared.
Look, Sarah, she said, youll have to leave this house as soon as possible. Ill give you enough money to rent a cheap room, then youll move into council housing. Id go back to my own country if I were you. Theres nothing for you here.
I imagined myself shivering on the streets, cold and hungry.
Dont tell me what to do, Milly, I replied, still raw from my husbands death. Give me some time.
Six months later, my lawyers advised me not to sue; the case was hopeless and the legal costs would be astronomical. Although I was legally entitled to fifty percent of the estate, the rewritten will erased that right. I still lived in Reginalds house, which infuriated Milly.
Get out, Sarah, she snapped. Youve stolen a frail, mindless old man, and now you think you can stay? Hand over the inheritance!
Then a thought struck me. I produced the original will from the desk.
Milly, here is the first will where Reginald clearly left everything to me. I can prove in court that he was suffering from senile dementia when he altered the document. Perhaps he signed it under duress. Prove it later
Milky fell silent, considering my words.
For a while I rented a modest flat in a quiet part of York, used Reginalds car sparingly, and survived on the meagre allowance Milly grudgingly gave me.
Today I am married to Peter, who first noticed me while walking his dog Baxter in the park where I run each morning. I enjoy keeping fit and looking presentable. Peter, a widower, was charmed by me; English gentlemen still appreciate a strong, resilient lady.
I have learned that relying on promises alone is a fragile foundation. True security comes from ones own strength and wisdom, not from the fleeting assurances of others.
