was completely empty.
Eleanor was dead.
During the funeral, his relatives looked at me as if they could read every thought I had had in my life.
“I was only with her for the money,” one whispered.
“Eleanor knew it,” another replied. “And yet she was always good to him.”
I pretended not to listen to them.
But I heard every word.
And I felt like I deserved every single one of them.
After the funeral, Eleanor’s lawyer called me to his office. I sat in front of him and tried to appear calm.
But inside I was already making accounts.
The house.
The money.
A safe life.
Finally, I thought, I could get out of the hole I had gotten myself into.
The lawyer opened Eleanor’s will.
And from the very beginning I understood that nothing was going to happen as I had imagined.
The house had been left
