“Hey. Look at me.”
***
The funeral was three days later. I wore the coat she bought me.
Claire, Evie’s niece, saw it first.
“Of course you wore that.”
“It’s cold.”
“No. You still know how to use her.”
“I was her husband.”
“You were her project.”
That hit harder than gold digger because part of me knew it was true.
“I was her husband.”
But under the shame, one thought kept pushing forward.
The will.
***
The next morning, I sat across from Mr. Carson, Evie’s lawyer, downtown.
“The house goes to Claire,” he said.
I sat forward. “That’s not possible.”
“It is, Damon. It’s stated in her will.”
“I was her husband.”
