“Bring your copy of the will,” I said. “And the original delivery instructions.”
“Are you certain, Evelyn?”
“I’m certain.”
After ending the call, I studied my reflection in the hallway mirror.
For once, Clara was not the woman looking back at me.
I saw myself—a woman who had finally discovered what her twin had understood long before.
When the doorbell began ringing and our relatives entered the house, I drew in a long breath.
I was prepared to destroy my seven-day marriage completely.
The candle flames trembled as I placed the wooden box beside Michael’s plate.
His fork stopped halfway to his lips.
“What is this, Evelyn?”
My son leaned closer while Michael lifted the lid.
Michael’s mother lowered her wineglass.
“Those are bank statements,” I said calmly. “Sixty-three thousand in debt. Loans Clara discovered two months before she died.”
The color disappeared from Michael’s face.
“Then explain the note,” I said, pushing Clara’s folded letter toward him. “Read it out loud, Michael. Read what my sister wrote about you.”
He could not do it.
His mother seized the letter and began reading it herself.
Her voice broke when she reached the words: ‘He wanted caretakers, not partners.’
“Evelyn, please,” Michael whispered. “I loved her. I love you.”
“It’s what Clara would have wanted!” he burst out. “She would have wanted someone to take care of me.”
Silence filled the dining room.
His brother shoved his chair away from the table.
“She warned you not to marry him,” my daughter said quietly. “In writing. Two days before she died.”
Michael stretched his hand toward mine.
I moved away.
“I’m filing for annulment Monday morning,” I said. “You’ll sign it. You’ll leave this house tonight. And you won’t touch a single cent of what Clara left behind.”
“Evelyn, don’t do this to me.”
He collected his coat without another word.
No one rose to escort him outside.
