I Married an Older Woman for Money and a Place to Stay—After Her Funeral, Her Lawyer Handed Me a Box and Said, ‘This Is What You Really Wanted’

I didn’t answer.

“Damon, that’s not a marriage.”

Two weeks before the courthouse wedding, Evie slid a folder across her kitchen table.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“A prenuptial agreement, Damon.”

“You’re serious?”

“Lonely doesn’t mean careless.”

She folded her hands on the table. “The house stays mine. My savings stay mine. And if something happens to me, my will speaks for me.”

“A prenuptial agreement.”

“You think I’m after your money, Evie?”