Men Who Fixed My Roof Stole My Late Husband’s Hidden Stash—But They Didn’t See This Coming

At seventy-four, I hired roofers because I wanted peace from leaks, not surprises. I was wrong.

I’m Evelyn, a widow living alone in the house my husband Richard and I shared. Every storm reminded me how fragile both the roof—and my life—had become. When I finally scraped together enough for repairs, four rough-looking men showed up. One of them, Joseph, was quiet and kind. The others were not.

On the third day, I heard shouting from the roof. They’d found something hidden in the rafters: a wooden box I recognized instantly. Richard had shown it to me years before—money, gold, carefully saved. He told me it was mine “when the time was right.” I never opened it.

That night, I overheard the crew planning to steal it and overcharge me. All but Joseph.

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