He was ready to protest, but something in my expression must have stopped him.
« Very well, » he grumbled as he walked past me. « Don’t come home too late. »
I watched him drive away, then I went back into the house. My hands trembled slightly as I climbed the stairs. The wood creaked under my feet, each step louder in my memories.
Upstairs, I hesitated. The small attic door was low, covered with layers of paint, and the handle was slightly crooked.
I inserted the key into the lock. It turned.
My heart was pounding as I turned the handle and pushed the door open.
When I opened the attic, I didn’t know what to expect. Maybe a box of old photos, one of her hidden biscuit tins, or a forgotten treasure from her past. I was thinking of a journal full of memories.
Instead, there was only… silence. The air was dry and smelled of cedar and dust. The floorboards groaned beneath my feet as I walked. The single lightbulb flickered once, then settled. Everything seemed ordinary. Stacks of yellowed books, boxes with faded labels, a pile of neatly folded blankets in a corner.
Then I saw it. A brown leather suitcase, leaning against the back wall, its edges smoothed by time.
My eyes widened. I remembered. As a child, I used to climb on it, pretending it was a pirate treasure chest. My grandmother would join in the game, handing me « gold coins » made of chocolates wrapped in gold paper, and laughing every time I shouted, « Aye aye, captain! »
I knelt down and carefully opened the clasps. Inside were layers of old albums and envelopes, some held together by worn-out rubber bands. There were property deeds, old insurance policies, bills, and, on top, an envelope addressed to me.
The handwriting is shaky, but instantly recognizable.
My throat tightened. My fingers trembled as I opened it.
The letter began:
« If you are reading this, my darling, it means I have left this world. I kept you in the dark to protect you. But even from up there, I will try to watch over you. »
I swallowed my saliva, already feeling a weight pressing on my chest.
She explained that about a year before her death, Paul had started visiting her secretly.
He told her she had to sell the house and go to a retirement home. He claimed we needed money and warned her not to tell me, otherwise, according to him, my marriage would fall apart.
She wrote that he came often, always well-dressed and outwardly polite, but with something cold in his eyes. At first, she refused. She didn’t want to believe anything bad about the man I had married.
But Paul had insisted. He had told her things that had frightened her: about our finances, about me, about the risk of losing the house if she didn’t act quickly.
In the end, she gave in. She signed preliminary contracts but never finalized the sale. She deeply regretted it and wrote that she was sorry to have listened to his lies, even for a moment.
My eyes were burning. My hands were shaking so much that I had to put the letter on my knees.
Then came the final part, those lines that I will never forget:
« If you can prove that Paul cheated on me, the house is yours. I left all the papers in your name. Take care, darling. Paul needed a lot of money, and I don’t know why. I hope he doesn’t get you and the girls into trouble. »
« With all my love, Grandma Elizabeth. »
I sat for a long time, the attic suddenly colder. My mind numb. I read the letter. Then I reread it. It was… unthinkable.
Paul, the man who kissed me every night before going to sleep, who helped bathe our daughters, who told me I was the love of his life, had made my dying grandmother sing.
I searched the suitcase and took everything out. There was the deed to the house, her will, the preliminary sales agreement signed but never finalized, and other documents that confirmed every word. She had named me as the sole beneficiary of the property several months before her death.
When I came back downstairs, the sun had disappeared. I called a taxi and carried the suitcase to the sidewalk. I didn’t go straight home. I stopped at a 24-hour self-storage facility and locked the suitcase in one of the small units. Then I went to the bank and put the most important documents—the will, the deed, and the letter—in a safe deposit box, in my name only.
That night, I didn’t sleep.
When Paul came home the next morning, still in his shirt and tie, I was waiting for him in the kitchen.
« Where are the girls? » he asked casually as he put down his keys.
« At my sister’s, » I replied, staring at him. « I had to talk to you first. »
Her smile vanished.
« Mira, what’s going on? »
I took a deep breath.
« Why did you put pressure on my grandmother before she died? Why did you need money? »
His lips parted slightly, but no sound came out at first. Then he let out a small, forced laugh.
« What are you talking about? Did someone say something to you at the funeral? You’re tired, Mira. You’re grieving. I understand. »
« No, » I said calmly but firmly. « Don’t do that. Don’t try to make me doubt myself. »
He squirmed in his chair.
« This is ridiculous. »
« I found her letter, Paul. I found everything. The deed is in my name. She wrote everything. Everything you told her. »
That’s when I saw it, that flash of fear in his eyes. The mask began to slip.
« She misunderstood, » he quickly added. « I never forced her. I was just trying to help. The house needed work, and we’re not exactly rolling in money, Mira. You know that. »
« Then why didn’t you come and talk to me about it? »
« I was trying to protect you. This investment… was supposed to fix things. »
I narrowed my eyes.
« What investment? »
« You might as well tell me now, » I added. « Because I already know you lost money. What I don’t know is how much and where it went. »
He slumped down onto a chair, his face in his hands.
“A year ago,” he began, “a guy in the office—Jason—told me about a crypto startup. Guaranteed return. Tripled investment. I figured with a quick win, we could stop worrying about the loan, Ellie’s daycare, all that.”
« So you played roulette with our savings? »
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