“Find somewhere else to die. You’re useless now.”
Those words hit me like a physical blow as I stood in the doorway of what I thought was our home. My husband, Gregory, was sitting at the dining table, his face cold and emotionless, like I was nothing more than a stranger who’d overstayed their welcome. Behind him, his sister Denise smirked, arms crossed, clearly enjoying every second of my humiliation.
My name is Evelyn. I’m thirty-seven years old, and until that moment, I’d spent the last fifteen years of my life devoted to my marriage and my husband’s family. I’d given up my career as a financial consultant to support Gregory through business school, nursed his ailing father through three years of declining health, and endured countless holidays with his insufferable relatives, who treated me like hired help.
And this was my reward.
“Gregory, what are you talking about?” My voice came out weak, uncertain. “This is our home.”
“Was your home,” Denise interjected, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Dad left everything to Gregory. The estate, the stocks, all of it. And Gregory’s made it very clear that he doesn’t need dead weight anymore.”
I looked at my husband, waiting for him to tell his sister she was wrong, that this was some kind of sick joke. But he just sat there, staring at me with those cold eyes I barely recognized anymore.
“The lawyer read the will yesterday,” Gregory said flatly. “I inherited the entire estate. Thirty-three million in stocks, the house in Seattle, the vacation property in Vermont, all of it. And I’ve decided it’s time we went our separate ways.”
My legs felt weak.
“Separate ways? Gregory, we’ve been married for fifteen years.”
“Fifteen wasted years,” he said, standing up and walking toward me. “Let’s be honest, Evelyn, you haven’t worked in over a decade. You have no income, no assets of your own. You’ve been living off my father’s generosity, and now that he’s gone, well, there’s no reason to keep pretending.”
“Pretending?” The word barely made it past my lips.
Denise laughed, a harsh, grating sound.
“Oh, please. You think we didn’t know? You married Gregory for his family’s money. Everyone knew it. You were some struggling consultant who saw a meal ticket and grabbed it.”
“That’s not true,” I said.
But even as the words came out, I realized how pointless they were. These people had already decided who I was, what I was worth. Nothing I said would change their minds.
“I want you out by the end of the week,” Gregory said, turning away from me like I was already gone. “Take your personal belongings, but nothing else. The furniture, the art, the jewelry I bought you over the years— it all stays here. Consider it compensation for the years of living rent-free.”
I stood there, frozen, trying to process what was happening. This couldn’t be real. This man I’d loved, the one I’d sacrificed everything for, was throwing me out like garbage the moment he got his inheritance.
“Where am I supposed to go?” I asked, hating how small my voice sounded.
“That’s not my problem anymore,” Gregory said without looking back. “You’re smart enough. I’m sure you’ll figure something out. Maybe get a job for once in your life.”
Denise moved closer, her smile widening.
“My brother’s been carrying you for years, Evelyn. Time to stand on your own two feet—if you even remember how.”
I wanted to scream at them, to fight back, to tell them exactly what I thought of their cruelty. But instead, I just turned and walked toward the bedroom, my hands shaking as I pulled out my phone.
There was only one person I could think to call.
“Lawrence, it’s Evelyn. I need help.”
My lawyer, Lawrence, had been a friend since college. He’d handled the prenuptial agreement when Gregory and I got married, though back then it had seemed like a formality—something Gregory’s father insisted on that we’d never need to use.
“Evelyn, what’s wrong? You sound upset.”
“Gregory just kicked me out of the house. His father died last week and left him everything—thirty-three million in stocks, the properties, all of it. And now he’s telling me I have twenty-four hours to pack my things and leave.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
And then Lawrence did something I didn’t expect. He laughed. Not a polite chuckle, but a full, genuine laugh that went on for several seconds.
“Lawrence, this isn’t funny,” I said, feeling tears prick at my eyes.
“Oh, Evelyn,” he said, still laughing. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at your husband. Is he really that dumb?”
“What do you mean?”
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