I first met my husband at university. We were both eighteen at the time, wide-eyed students just starting out in life. I spotted Edward almost immediately; there was something about his quiet strength, sharp mind, and, most of all, his kindness, that set him apart from the crowd. At first we were simply friends, but before long I realised my feelings ran far deeper than friendship. After a few months, we became a couple. Even now, I recall that chapter of my life fondly, and I can say without a doubt that my university years were the happiest days Ive known.
A year on, Edward proposed to me, and soon after, we married. We couldnt afford anything lavish, so we marked the occasion with a modest ceremony, just close family gathered in our small circle. There was no white wedding or grand venue, but love and joy filled every corner of the room.
During our second year at university, Edward took on a job. We began our married life in halls, dreaming of having our own flat one day, confident it would happen sooner or later. And so, fate delivered. After my grandmother passed away, I inherited a small sum, and Edward managed to put together some savings of his own. Together, it was just enough for a deposit on a modest two-bedroom flatperfect for the family we hoped would come along in time.
We spent the next ten years together, although children never did arrive for us. A few years back, Edward ran into trouble at work: the company he worked for started to flounder, and the owner laid the blame for the financial mess squarely at Edwards door, as he was the chief accountant. After a drawn-out legal battle, Edward, to our despair, was found guiltyeven though all hed done was follow his employers instructionsand sentenced to four years in prison. It was terribly unjust. We fought, hired solicitors, but everything seemed stacked against us. The paperwork made it appear as though Edward was to blame, though he had done little more than act under orders. It was a punishing time, but I tried my utmost to support my husband as best I could. Only, little did I know, in a year I would come to need that same support myself.
One afternoon, my mother-in-law, Mrs. Bennett, arrived at my door. With a coldness I never anticipated, she told me I could no longer live in the flat. She blamed me for what had happened to Edward, insisting that hed bought the flat with his own money and that I had no claim to it whatsoever. I was stunned into silence, completely unprepared for such harshness from someone I believed would stand by me.
It turned out that before the trial, Edward had granted his mother a power of attorney. Using it, she had acquired bank statements showing the mortgage payments had come from Edwards account. Mrs. Bennett said that these documents would be enough for the court to decide I played no part in purchasing the flat. Now I find myself at a loss, unsure how to move forward, and feeling terribly alone.
