My family wasn’t planning to comfort me.
They were planning to take advantage of me while I was still dressed for my husband’s funeral.
Then my father said something that made my skin go cold.
“Once she signs,” he said, “we’ll move the accounts and cut off her access. If she fights back, we’ll say she’s unstable after Gideon’s death. Courts listen to family.”
I stood frozen, breathing shallowly.
They weren’t trying to help me recover.
They were planning to make sure I never touched what my husband had left behind.
Quietly, I stepped away from the doorway.
My first instinct was to burst in and confront them—to shout, to demand answers.
But anger would only give them control.
So instead, I walked into the kitchen, turned on the faucet, and let the water run so it sounded like I had just arrived. I took a few deep breaths and forced my expression to calm down.
