During the reading of my husband’s will, my son declared:
“We get the house and the business. She only gets the plants.”
Everyone laughed until the lawyer said:
“The business never belonged to you. It was registered under the name of…”
The lawyer, Charles Davies, looked up from the documents with a grave expression that sent a chill down my spine.
He had just finished reading the main part of my husband’s will, and my stepson, Nicholas, could not contain his euphoria. He stood up as if he were the new king of an empire, adjusting the expensive suit I had bought him, not knowing he would wear it to destroy me. “You all heard him,” Nicholas shouted with his arms outstretched, looking at David and his wife Amanda.
“We get the house and the business. She only gets the plants.”
His laughter was so loud it echoed through the lawyer’s office. Amanda covered her mouth, feigning surprise, but her eyes shone with pure malice.
Even my own son, David, let out a nervous chuckle, as if he found it funny that his 65-year-old mother was being left practically homeless. “The garden plants,” Amanda repeated between peals of laughter. “How generous of your stepfather, Nicholas.
He left her his precious flowers to look after in her old age.”
They all laughed as if it were the funniest joke in the world. I remained seated in silence, feeling tears threatening to spill, but I refused to give them the satisfaction. Nicholas approached my chair with that contemptuous smile I knew so well.
“Oh, Carol, don’t look so sad. At least you can sell a few roses to buy your bread.”
His comment triggered another wave of laughter. “Besides, it was about time someone young took the reins of the business.
You never understood any of it. You were always just the wife who served coffee to the customers.”
The lawyer, Charles, cleared his throat, and I noticed something strange in his expression. There was a tension in his eyes that wasn’t there before.
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