"I'm making tea."
"I was resting."
"Then at least let the water boil first."
I glanced down at the kettle, embarrassed.
She laughed softly, and for a few minutes, the room felt almost normal. Like I was a husband. Like she wasn't just a roof I was standing under.
Then my phone buzzed with a text from Jesse.
"How's the retirement plan?"
I glanced at Evie. She was smiling at the mug I'd made her.
"How's the retirement plan?"
"Damon?" she asked. "Everything all right?"
"Yeah," I said, already typing. "Just Jesse being stupid."
"All good. Once she's gone, I'm set."
I hated myself for two seconds.
Then I locked my phone and acted like two seconds of hate was enough.
***
Three mornings later, Evie dropped a spoon on the kitchen floor.
I turned from the stove. "Evie?"
I hated myself for two seconds.
She gripped the counter. Her mouth moved, but no words came out.
"Hey. Look at me."
Her knees buckled.
I caught her before her head hit the floor.
At the hospital, a doctor with tired eyes found me.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Her heart failed."
"She was just eating jam," I whispered.
"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."
"The house goes to Claire."
"And you signed an agreement before the marriage."
"What about her savings?"
"Her liquid assets go to the church's community charity."
My throat tightened. "She left me nothing?"
Mr. Carson adjusted his glasses. "She left you one personal item."
"A check?"
"A shoebox."
"She left me nothing?"
He placed an old cardboard box on the desk. My name sat across the lid in Evie's careful handwriting.
I stared at it. "This is all?"
"This is what she asked me to give you."
"What is it?"
Mr. Carson didn't look away. "She said this is what you really wanted."
My fingers felt stiff as I lifted the lid.
The first thing inside was a folded sheet of printed paper. I opened it and saw the words from my text to Jesse:
"All good. Once she's gone, I'm set."
"She said this is what you really wanted."
The office went silent around me.
"Where did she get this?" I asked.
"She said your phone lit up on the kitchen table while she was sitting there."
"And she read it?"
