The day after her funeral, I sat in her lawyer’s office, still numb. No will, no fortune—just that letter. “If you want to keep the house,” the lawyer said, “you must leave your husband and file for divorce within three days. Otherwise, the trust dissolves, and the house will be sold.” I was stunned. My mother, always calm and kind, had drawn a line in stone.
Jason, waiting in the car, asked if I got the house. I told him no—there was nothing. He laughed bitterly and called her a witch. That night, he didn’t come home. Lily pushed broccoli around her plate, her little voice asking where Daddy was. I had no answer. I just stared at the door, knowing a choice was coming. And I only had three days left.