The door before you is not yours to open: a tale of love, betrayal, and inheritance
Emily was just settling into bed when an unexpected knock rattled the front door. With a sigh, she draped her dressing gown over her shoulders and shuffled to answer it. There he stoodher ex-husband, Henry.
“You?” she blinked, squinting against the dim hall light. “What do you want?”
“We need to talk. May I come in?” His smile was thin as paper. “After all, Im no stranger here.”
Reluctantly, Emily stepped aside. Henry strode past her into the sitting room, sinking into the sofa with a glance around. “Nothings changed,” he murmured. “Not a lick of paint, not a single cushion out of place. As if time froze the moment I left.”
“I like it this way. Did you come to inspect the place? Or perhaps youd like to fund a renovation?”
She hadnt feared sharpness with him in years. Once, shed swallowed her words, endured his jabs in silence. But now? Why bother? Theyd been strangers for agesif not outright enemies. Their daughter, Lily, was grown now, living her own life, barely speaking to either of them.
“Something smells good,” Henry abruptly shifted topic. “Cooking? Care to share?”
Emily nearly laughed. She knew hed split from his new wife months priorthe same Jessica whod stolen him away a year and a half ago.
That evening was etched in her memory. Henry had returned from work, packed his things in cold silence.
“Im leaving. Ive been having an affair. You knew, didnt you? Pretended not to see. Well, Im done.”
Emily had stood frozen, though part of her *had* known. Jessica, the twenty-year-old intern from his office, had charmed him in weeks. Emilys closest friend, who worked at the same firm, had told her everything. But shed swallowed her pride, refusing to shatter their family over a fleeting fling. Shed thought it would pass. It hadnt.
Henry had left, rented a flat, and filed for divorce. As a “decent man,” hed relinquished his share of their home.
“You and Lily stay. I want nothing.”
Emily had wept for nights. Pleaded with him to return. But hed been ice, smug in his newfound love.
“*This* is real,” hed said. “What we had was empty.”
In those bleak months, only her mother-in-law, Margaret Whitmore, had stood by her. Already ill, Margaret had relied on Emilydoctors visits, errands, prescriptions. Henry rarely appeared; he had a “new family” now.
Margaret had openly taken Emilys side. Disillusioned with her son, shed refused to see him. Then shed passed. Emily had been there till the end, arranging the funeral. Henry only showed for the wake.
Two weeks later, the will was read. The house hadnt gone to him. It went to Emily.
“You *manipulated* her! Played the saint, brought her mealsactress!” hed hissed.
Emily had said nothing. The choice had been Margarets.
Now, she turned to the window, where the pale moon cast its ghostly glow, and realizedfor the first time in yearsshe could finally breathe.
