Hey love, Ive got to tell you about how I almost ended up on the streets after marrying a Brit.
Listen, dear, in my will youre the only one mentioned. Ive sorted my daughter out, she wont make any claims on you. Renaldwell, Ill call him Edwardkissed my hand and showed me the document, and I felt a warm glow. I trusted my English husband more than anyone; I never bothered with prenuptial agreements or insurance, hoping his decency would be enough. Turns out I was dreaming.
I met Edward through an online penpal site. I was desperate to wed a foreigner. I lived in Birmingham, already retired, and couldnt find a partner my own age. Who wants to look after a frail old man? Not me. In England Id heard older folks were spry, travelling the countryside, still up for a laugh.
Edward was 76, I was 55, and I was the same age as his daughter, Hester. We wrote back and forth for a year, getting to know each other, testing our temperaments. Then I flew to York with one clear aim to marry Edward. He met me at the station, a tall, wellkept bloke holding a wilted bunch of roses. I thought about bolting back home, but the curtain was just rising. The sad roses ended up in my hands, their scent long gone.
He drove me to his big house and we had a modest lunch for two. I asked for a vase for the sad flowers; he handed me a glass of water, and as soon as the petals hit the water they fell apart a sign, I thought, that love between us was a dead end. Edward needed a companion to look after him, I needed financial support. Two lonely people, not lovers.
He promised to leave everything to me when he passed, but promises arent deeds. We were married soon after I became Mrs. Morley. The wedding was tiny: his daughter Hester with her husband and three kids, plus a family friend. I was his third wife. In his first marriage he had twin daughters, Frances and Hester. Hed always been against children, preferring selfimprovement and travel, but his first wife gave birth anyway. He adored the girls, yet blamed his wife for defying him, and when they turned eighteen he walked out in a very public way. His wife never recovered, died two years later in her sleep. He left his threestorey house, a country villa, three cars and his business to the twins, even transferring the company to Frances.
Edward then found an older lady, also childfree, seven years his senior. Things went smoothly until his new wife fell ill. He tended to her lovingly massages, feeding, even changing diapers until she passed. Then tragedy struck again: Frances was found dead on a roadside under mysterious circumstances, the killer never caught.
Left alone, Edward sank into depression. His other daughter, Hester, never visited. After a while he decided he must remarry he was full of energy again, thanks to an online dating site. Thats how I met my English husband.
Life as Mrs. Morley started. All the money was Edwards. He was tightfisted, handing out the bare minimum for groceries, checking every receipt, demanding written accounts for any purchase. When I asked for a little extra for perfume, he made a sour face like hed swallowed a lemon. Still, every year we did a cruise or a short break that was his lifelong dream.
I grew fond of him, felt sorry for his age, learned to cook his favourite dishes, kept an eye on his health, and stuck by his side through thick and thin. Then a stroke hit him. The ambulance whisked him to A&E. I rang his daughter straight away. She rushed over not to see her dad, but to see me.
Sophie, Ive brought dads will, she said. Listen to this: All movable and immovable property I bequeath to my daughter. To my wife, a sum determined by my daughter for a respectable life.
Turns out Edward had quietly rewritten his will in favour of his daughter, feeling guilty about how hed left his first family. Hester never set foot in our home again, and Edward never met his three grandsons.
I thought Id stay by his bedside, but the will was already set. I spent six months nursing him in hospital, feeding him from a spoon, stroking his hand, talking to him as his mind drifted away. He was eightytwo when death finally took him.
A few weeks later, Hester showed up at the door of the house wed shared.
Listen, Sophie, youll have to move out pronto. Ill give you a few pounds to get a cheap flat, then you can apply for council housing. Id go back to Birmingham if I were you. Youve got nothing here, she said, her tone icy.
I could already picture myself shivering on the streets, cold and hungry. Dont tell me what to do, Hester. Im still grieving my husband, I replied, not knowing how to react.
Six months later, lawyers told me suing would be a lost cause the costs would swallow any share I might claim. By law I was entitled to half the estate, but the altered will wiped that out. I was still living in Edwards house, and that seemed to drive Hester mad.
She kept pushing, Get out, youve taken advantage of our old dad. I pulled out the original will from the desk.
Hester, look, I have the first will where Edward left everything to me. I can prove in court that he was not of sound mind when he changed it. Maybe he was forced to sign, I said, hoping to buy time.
She went quiet, thinking.
So I ended up renting a modest room in a cheaper part of York, still using Edwards car, scraping together what little money I could from Hesters begrudging allowance.
These days Im married to Pierre, who spotted me jogging in the park with my Labrador, Baxter. We both love a good run, and hes completely smitten. He says English women have a certain charm that never goes out of style.
Thats my tale, love. Its a long, twisted road, but Im finally on steadier ground. Talk soon!
