I had expected grief.
I hadn’t expected this.
“You’re telling me Richard left me nothing?”
“That’s what his will says.”
I lowered myself into the nearest chair.
My mind raced through the years we had spent together.
The house.
The garden.
The mornings when I brought him coffee.
The nights when I sat beside him while his breathing became difficult.
The little jokes.
The arguments.
The quiet conversations.
Had all of it meant something different to him?
Had I been nothing more than a woman he rescued because he felt sorry for her?
The lawyer watched me silently.
Then he opened his briefcase.
“But there’s something else.”
He placed an old photograph on my kitchen table.
It was faded and slightly torn along one edge.
I picked it up.
A young man stood outside a brick building.
He was smiling.
In his arms was a little girl.
She couldn’t have been more than five years old.