My dear lady, you are the only one mentioned in my will, Edward said, pressing a sealstamped document into my hand and kissing my wrist. His words warmed me, and I found myself admiring my English husband even more. I had never thought Id need a prenuptial agreement or any insurance; I trusted his decency and generosity. I was wrong.
I had met Edward through an online penfriend service. I longed to marry a foreigner. I lived in Manchester, already retired, and could not bring myself to marry a man my own age. The notion of caring for a frail old father appealed to me not at all, yet I imagined that older people abroad were lively, spry, and still travelled. Edward was seventysix, I was fiftyfive, and I was the same age as his daughter Emily.
Our correspondence lasted a year. We grew familiar, teased each others quirks, and grew closer. Eventually I flew to England, to the market town of York, determined to become Edwards wife. He greeted me with a tall, wellkept figure, clutching a modest bouquet of wilted roses. I thought of turning back then, but the drama had only begun. The roses were dry, their scent gone.
Edward drove me to his sizable country house and welcomed me with a simple twoperson lunch. I asked for a vase for the sad roses; he handed me a glass of water. The moment I set the flowers in it, their petals fell apartanother sign, perhaps, from above.
Both of us understood that love was not the foundation of our union. I needed financial security; Edward needed a companion to look after him. Two lonely seniors, each seeking a practical solution, had found one in the other. He promised to leave all his assets to me when he passed, but a promise is not a deed.
Soon we were married, and I became Mrs. Morley. The ceremony was modest, attended only by Edwards daughter Frances and her husband with their three children, plus an old family friend. I was Edwards third wife. In his first marriage he had had twin daughters, Frances and Emily. Although Edward had always opposed having children, his first wife defied him and bore the twins. He grew to love them fiercely, but never forgave his wifes rebellion. When the girls turned eighteen, Edward left the family in a very public way. His wife never recovered from his departure and died in her sleep two years later. She left behind a threestorey house, a countryside villa, three cars, and a modest business, all bequeathed to the twins. Edward even transferred the business to Frances.
Later Edward found another older lady, also disinclined to have children, who was seven years his senior. Their relationship seemed smooth until the new wife fell ill. Edward tended to her with tendernessmassages, feeding, changing her nappiesuntil she passed away.
Tragedy struck again when Frances died under mysterious circumstances, discovered on a roadside, her murderer never found. The loss plunged Edward into deep depression. During this bleak period his other daughter Emily never visited him. After a period of mourning, Edward regained his vigor and, with the help of an online dating site, resolved to marry again. Thats how I entered his life.
Our married life began. All the money was Edwards. He proved miserly, handing out the bare minimum for groceries, scrutinising every receipt, demanding written accounts of any purchase. When I asked for a modest sum for a dress or some cosmetics, he grimaced as if Id asked for a lemon. Still, each year we travelled on cruises and toursEdwards cherished dream.
I treated Edward kindly, feeling pity for his age, learning to cook his favourite dishes, watching over his health, staying by his side in good times and bad. Yet a cruel illness struck him: a stroke sent him to the intensive care unit. I called his daughter Emily immediately. She arrived, not to see her father, but to see me.
Sarah, she said, holding the new will, listen to this: All movable and immovable property I bequeath to my daughter. To my wife, a sum to be determined by my daughter for a decent living.
It turned out Edward had secretly altered his will in favour of Emily, feeling guilty for having abandoned Frances and for his role, however indirect, in her death. Emily, still angry at her father, never came to visit him. She knew nothing of her three grandchildren.
I had expected to stay by Edwards side, but he lingered only a few more months. For half a year I cared for him in the hospital, feeding him with a spoon, gently stroking his hand, talking to him while he drifted in a world of his own. He never recognised anyone, and I had no intention of fighting his daughter over the will.
When Edward finally passed at eightytwo, Emily appeared at the doorway of the house we had shared. Now, Sarah, youll have to leave this place as soon as possible, she declared. Ill give you enough money to rent a cheap room, then youll get council housing. Id go back to my own country if I were you. Nothings left for you here.
I imagined myself shivering on the street, hungry and alone. Dont tell me what to do, Emily, I replied, still raw from my husbands death. I need time.
Six months later, lawyers advised me that suing would be futile and would cost a fortune. Though the law granted me fifty per cent of the estate, Edwards revised will erased that right. I still lived in his house, which infuriated Emily.
You must move out, Sarah, she urged. Youve taken care of a senile old man, now youll be kicked out too! The inheritance is yours to claim!
In desperation I produced the original will, the one Edward had signed before his dementia. Emily, heres the first will where Edward leaves everything to me. He wasnt aware when he rewrote it. Perhaps he signed under pressure. Prove it later, I said. Emily fell silent, thinking.
For a while I rented a modest flat in a cheap part of York, driving Edwards car and scraping together what little money Emily allowed me. Today I am married to Peter, a widower I met in the park while jogging with his Labrador, Buddy. He noticed me one morning, and we struck up conversation. He appreciates a woman who keeps fit and carries herself with dignity.
Life has taught me that chasing security through anothers fortune can lead to heartache, but perseverance and a willingness to start anew can restore hope. The true wealth lies not in inherited assets, but in the resilience we discover within ourselves.
