“I heard Grandpa changed his will.”
I turned to face her. “You’ve barely spoken to me in weeks, and that’s your opener?”
“Did you marry him for money or not?”
“I married him because I was terrified of being poor forever.”
“And now?”
“Now I think your family is worse than I imagined.”
The following Sunday, Angela introduced me at church as “Dad’s brave little surprise.”
I smiled. “And you’re his long-term disappointment, Angela.”
A woman nearby choked on a laugh.
She leaned closer. “You really think you belong here?”
“I do. More than people who mistake cruelty for class.”
By the time we got home, Daniel was already in the foyer with a lawyer.
Rick had barely stepped inside when he stopped, pressing a hand to his chest.
“Rick?” I caught his arm.
Violet came running. “Grandpa?”
“Call an ambulance,” I snapped.
Angela waved it off. “It’s probably just stress—”
I lowered Rick carefully to the floor. His breathing had become shallow, thin.For illustrative purposes only
Violet was shaking so badly she nearly dropped the phone.
“Violet. Look at me. Tell them his age. Tell them the address.”
She nodded and forced the words out.
Rick’s fingers tightened around my wrist.
“Don’t let them bully you into silence.”
“I won’t.”
He gave the smallest nod.
Three days later, he summoned the entire family.
They arrived dressed in black—as if already mourning the version of him they believed would make them rich.
Rick sat by the fire, pale, his cane resting beside him.
“I’ll save us time,” he said. “Layla remains my wife. After my death, she will oversee the foundation and hold partial control of the company.”
Angela gasped. Daniel shot halfway out of his seat.
Rick lifted a hand. “Sit down.”
“You despise her because you think she wanted my money,” he continued. “That would matter more if your lives weren’t built around it.”
Then he turned to Violet.
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