After My Husband’s Memorial Service, My Son Drove Me To A Remote Road And Said: “This Is Where You Get Out. The House And Business Are Mine Now.” I Stood In The Dust, Clutching My Bag, As He Drove Away Without Looking Back. No Phone. No Money. And That’s When I Realized – I Wasn’t Alone. I Was Free…

I didn’t call any of my quilting friends as Brandon had suggested. I called Vincent Hargrove, our family lawyer of 30 years.

“Naomi, I tried reaching you yesterday. I was surprised not to see you at the reading.”

My hand tightened on the receiver. “What reading?”

Vincent was silent for a moment.

“The will reading. Your son presented a document, but I had concerns. I’ve been trying to contact you.”

“I’ve been indisposed,” I said, my voice steady despite the rage building inside me.

“Vincent, I need your help and I need discretion.”

“You have both. My office. 1 hour.”

“I’ll be there.”

I bought a cheap prepaid phone with cash I kept hidden in a compartment of my purse.

Emergency money Nicholas had insisted we both carry after getting stranded with a flat tire years ago. I also purchased a bottle of water and a sandwich I had no appetite for. Rey refused to take my money.

“On the house, Naomi. You need anything else? You just ask.”

His kindness nearly broke me.

Nearly. But I hadn’t cried when they lowered Nicholas into the ground, and I wouldn’t cry now. Vincent’s law office occupied the second floor of a Victorian on Main Street.

When his secretary saw me, her eyes widened. “Mrs. Canton, Mr.

Hargrove is expecting you.”

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