No lawsuits.
No harassment.
No removing anything from the house.
And no disrespect toward the woman Thomas had chosen to spend the final chapter of his life with.
Three days later, two boxes arrived at the trailer.
Inside were my clothes.
My wedding ring.
Several photographs.
And at the very bottom was the picture I had begged for.
Thomas was standing beside me at our small wedding.
His arm was around my waist.
We were both laughing.
Behind the photograph, in Thomas’s handwriting,
But I never moved back into the mansion.
I couldn’t.
The rooms were too quiet without him.
Instead, I sold it the following year.
I kept enough money to live comfortably.
Then I used a large portion of the rest to create a community fund in Thomas’s name for elderly widows and widowers struggling with housing.
His children eventually came to see me.
There were no dramatic apologies.
