She grabbed her phone again and dialed Elizabeth. Voicemail. Again. “Elizabeth, call me right now,” she said into the receiver. Her voice cracked. She tried again. And again. Texts followed. I got a call from the lawyer, surely this is a misunderstanding right? Why would you do this??
No answer. Gwen stood in the hallway, the house echoing around her. All the warmth of the past week curdled in her memory. Every small kindness now looked staged—rehearsed. She had been a project. A task. A person to be managed. Gwen felt sick.
Later that afternoon, she walked into a local firm and asked to see a lawyer—someone new. She told him everything. The headache. The grief. The signatures. The trust. The lawyer reviewed the documents silently, then looked at her gently. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But you signed them willingly.”
Gwen swallowed hard. “Even if I wasn’t well?” He nodded slowly. “You were lucid. And the paperwork is airtight. This would be very difficult to undo and even if you try, you might rack up a lot in legal fees without even getting your assets back.” Gwen sat back in the chair. Her body felt hollow. Her mind wouldn’t stop spinning.
That evening, she returned home and walked through each room feeling desolate. She wanted to cry but felt too numb to even do that. First she lost her husband and then to get duped and tricked into losing this home, all the memories they had built together was devastating.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing, stunned by how swiftly everything had been taken. She felt foolish for having trusted Elizabeth and utterly helpless. There was nothing she could do about any of it. She finally let loose and let the tears flow. What Gwen didn’t know however, that her misery wasn’t going to last that long.
The morning of the funeral, Gwen dressed with trembling hands. She slipped into a black dress Albert had always liked on her. She dabbed concealer under her eyes and reached for oversized sunglasses. She wouldn’t give Elizabeth the satisfaction of seeing her broken. Not today. Not anymore.
At the church, Gwen kept her composure. The hall was filled with mourners, soft organ music playing in the background. Elizabeth sat across the aisle in a fitted black coat, chin slightly lifted. When their eyes met, she gave the faintest smirk—small, but smug enough to twist Gwen’s stomach.
Gwen’s fingers curled instinctively. She wanted to walk across the aisle and slap that expression off Elizabeth’s face. To scream. To demand an answer. But she didn’t. Not here. This was the last time she’ll get to see Albert. She wasn’t going to let Elizabeth contaminate such precious moments.
The service moved quietly. Words were read. Hands were held. When it ended, Gwen was speaking to a family friend when two men in suits approached her gently. “Excuse us—are you Mrs. Dawson?” one of them asked. Gwen nodded. “We’re from the bank. We need to speak to the estate owner.”