27 March 2023
Dear Diary,
My dear Lady Evelyn, you are the sole beneficiary in my will. I have seen to my daughters every need, so she will have no grievances against you. Reginald Whitaker clasped my hand, placed the draft of his testament before me, and kissed my wrist. The words pleased me, and I held Reginald, my English husband, in even higher esteem. I had never imagined I would need a prenuptial contract or insurance; I simply trusted in decency and humanity. How naïve I was.
Reginald and I first corresponded through an online penfriend service. I longed to wed a foreigner, though I was a retired pensioner living in Manchester, fiftyfive years old. Marrying a peer of my own age seemed impossiblewho would want to tend to an elderly man? Across the Channel, the older generation appears spry, travels, and enjoys life. Reginald was seventysix; I was his contemporary, matching his daughter Amys age.
Our letters spanned a year. We gauged each other’s temperaments, grew accustomed to the quirks of the other. Finally, I travelled to York with a single purpose: to become Reginalds wife. He greeted me, a tall, impeccably dressed gentleman, clutching a modest bouquet of slightly wilted roses. My instinct screamed to turn and return to Manchester, but the drama had just begun. The roses, now scentless, lay in my hands like a faded promise.
Reginald drove me to his grand house. A modest supper for two awaited. I asked for a vase for the sad roses; he handed me a glass of water. As soon as I placed the flowers in it, the petals fell away, as if a higher sign had been given.
Both of us understood that seeking a heartfelt romance was futile. I needed financial security; Reginald required a companion to look after him. Two solitary elders, each with a purpose. He vowed to name me sole heir to all his assets upon his death. As it turned out, a promise is not a deed.
We were soon married, and I became Mrs. Morley. The ceremony was simple: Reginalds daughter Amy arrived with her husband and three children, and an old family couple attended as guests. I was Reginalds third wife. In his first marriage he had twin daughters, Frances and Amy. Though Reginald had always opposed children, his first wife gave birth regardless. He adored the girls, but never forgave his wifes defiance.
When the twins turned eighteen, Reginald walked out of the family home in a very public fashion. His first wife could not survive his departure; she died two years later, succumbing in her sleep. He left a threestorey house, a country villa, three cars, and even transferred his business to Frances.
Later Reginald married an older spinster, Eleanor, who also had no wish for children. She was seven years his senior, and their life seemed content until Eleanor fell ill. Reginald tended to her with devotionmassages, meals, even changing her adult diapersuntil she passed away.
Tragedy struck again when Frances was found dead on a roadside under mysterious circumstances. The killer was never identified. Reginald fell into a deep depression. Amy, his surviving daughter, never visited him during his grief.
After a period of mourning, Reginald resolved to remarry. He revived his online profile, and that is how I entered his life. Our married life began amidst his substantial finances. He proved a miser: he allotted the bare minimum for groceries, scrutinised every receipt, and demanded written accounts for any purchase. When I asked for a modest sum for cosmetics, he grimaced as though Id asked for a lemon.
Nevertheless, each year we journeyed togethercruises and tours, the very dream Reginald longed for. I cared for him kindly, respected his age, learned to prepare his favourite dishes, looked after his health, and stayed by his side in sickness and in health.
Then a stroke struck. Ambulance whisked Reginald to intensive care. I immediately called his daughter Amy. She arrived, not to see her father, but to present his updated will: All movable and immovable property I bequeath to my daughter. To my wife I leave an amount to be determined by my daughter for a decent living. It was clear Reginald, in his declining mind, had altered the will in favour of Amy, perhaps out of lingering guilt for the way he had treated his daughters.
Amy, still nursing her resentment, never visited again. Reginald, now eightytwo, lingered in hospital for six months. I fed him, soothed his trembling hand, and spoke to him, though he could no longer recognise me. I held no wish to contest the will; the legal counsel warned that any challenge would be futile and financially ruinous.
When Reginald passed, Amy appeared at the doorway of the house we had shared: Youll have to leave, Mrs. Morley, as soon as possible. Ill give you enough money for a cheap room, then youll be on social housing. Id be back in Manchester if I were you. Nothing here is yours. I imagined myself cast out, cold and hungry on the street.
She went on, Dont lecture me, Amy. Im still grieving my fathers death. Well speak later. Half a year later lawyers advised against suing; the cost would outweigh any potential gain. Though the law granted me fifty percent of the estate, the revised will nullified it. I remained in Reginalds house, a fact that infuriated Amy: Move out, Morley. Youve taken care of an old, senile father; now you must leave! The inheritance is hers!
In a moment of desperation I produced the original testament, the one Reginald had signed before his dementia set in, proving that he had intended the entire estate for me. Amy fell silent, considering my words.
For a while I rented a modest flat in a cheap part of York, drove Reginalds car, and scraped together a living from the little support Amy reluctantly provided. Now I am married to Peter Hughes, who first noticed me jogging in the park with my dog Baxter. He approached, and we soon fell in love. He has been a beacon of warmth, and I finally feel I have found genuine companionship, not just a financial arrangement.
Looking back, I see that building a life on convenience, control, and conditional promises leads only to sorrow. True partnership should rest on mutual respect and honest love, not on estates or obligations. I have learned that the greatest wealth is the kindness we offer each other, and that no amount of property can replace a sincere, caring heart.
