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Gwen stood in the hallway, the house echoing around her. All the warmth of the past week curdled in her memory. Every small kindness now looked staged—rehearsed. Gwen sat back in the chair. Her body felt hollow. Her mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

She wanted to cry, scream, and throw things around but felt too numb to even do that. First she lost her husband and then to get duped and tricked into losing this home, all the memories they had built together was devastating.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing, stunned by how swiftly everything had been taken. She felt foolish for having trusted Elizabeth. There was nothing she could do about any of it. She finally let loose and let the tears flow. What Gwen didn’t know, however, was that her misery wasn’t going to last that long…….

Gwen sat at the kitchen table, flipping through an old photo album. She hadn’t planned to pull it out today, but the quiet in the house made it hard to do much else. A month had passed since Albert died, yet everything still felt paused—as if waiting for him to return.

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She paused at a photo of the two of them, standing outside their home, arms linked. The garden looked rough around the edges, but they were smiling like it didn’t matter. It was taken not long after they moved in. That house had seen their best and worst days.

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They’d met at a conference—both attending solo, both uninterested in small talk until they found themselves at the same table during a coffee break. Something about the conversation stuck. A few dinners later, it turned into something more solid. Gwen hadn’t been expecting a second chance, but there it was.

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Within a few months, they were making plans. It wasn’t a decision everyone around them supported, but neither of them had been interested in dragging things out. Gwen had heard the concerns but moved forward anyway. Time proved she wasn’t wrong. They had built a life that made sense.

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Now, she was navigating it without him. She closed the album gently, got up, and wandered to the sink to rinse her mug. The house felt heavier in his absence—quieter, more spacious in the worst way. She wasn’t sure what to do with herself most days.

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The doorbell rang. She wiped her hands on a towel and opened the door to find Sandra from across the street, holding a covered casserole dish. “Thought you might want something homemade,” Sandra offered kindly. Gwen nodded, managed a faint smile, and took the dish with both hands.

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Since Albert’s passing, friends and neighbors had taken turns stopping by. Some brought food, others brought stories. Gwen appreciated the effort, even if it was overwhelming at times. She hadn’t cooked a proper meal since Albert passed, but the fridge was full of everyone else’s attempts.

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She glanced at the clock and sighed. It was nearly time for her appointment at the church. She had a meeting with the pastor and mortician to go over the final details. There was still so much to organize. She hadn’t expected the process to drag on this long.

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She changed into something neat, tied her hair back, and grabbed her folder of documents. On the drive to the church, she kept her focus on practical matters—the service program, the guest list, the music. Emotion could wait. Today was about checking off what needed doing.

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Elizabeth was due to arrive later that evening. Gwen hadn’t spoken to her since the initial call. Their conversations had always been short. Civil, but strained. Gwen had never felt welcome as a stepmother. Elizabeth kept her distance—and Gwen suspected, even early on, that it was a very deliberate choice.

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She had been a teenager when Gwen entered the picture, and the timing hadn’t helped. Elizabeth believed Gwen was the reason her parents split, despite Albert’s own honesty. Gwen had tried to be patient, generous, open. But nothing seemed to reach her. Resentment lingered like a wall between them.

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Over time, Gwen noticed how easily Elizabeth could twist things in her favor. She was careful with her tone, manipulative with her words—especially with Albert. Gwen had watched her ask for things gently, then firmly, then insistently. Albert always caved. Gwen eventually stopped interfering and pulled back instead.

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The last few years had been quiet—no calls, no messages. Albert lost touch with her too, and Gwen didn’t push him to reconnect. It was easier that way. No arguments, no pretending. Now, they were about to share space again, and Gwen hoped only for civility. A few days of grace, nothing more than that.

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She parked outside the church and took a deep breath. The conversations ahead would be about flowers, photos, and seating plans—but underneath it all, tension waited. Gwen adjusted her bag on her shoulder, pushed the door open, and stepped inside. For now, the focus was getting through the day.

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Gwen spotted Elizabeth near the front pews, her head bowed slightly as she spoke with the pastor. She looked calm—unusually so. When their eyes met, Gwen braced herself for a cold look, but it never came. Instead Elizabeth walked over slowly and opened her arms. “I’m really sorry, Gwen. Truly.”

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For a second, Gwen thought she’d been dreaming. She stood still, startled by the softness in Elizabeth’s voice. No tension in her shoulders, no edge in her tone. Just… warmth. Gwen offered a tentative nod, her instincts unsure whether to lean into the moment or guard against it. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

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Elizabeth walked with her to the church office. She reached for Gwen’s folder without hesitation. “Here—let me carry that,” she said gently. Gwen hesitated, then handed it over. She wasn’t sure what was happening, but brushed away her scepticism by owing it to grief.

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The meeting passed in a blur. Gwen answered questions, nodded at timelines, and picked out music. Elizabeth sat beside her, offering quiet support. Not inserting herself. Not correcting. Just there. Gwen kept glancing at her, half-expecting a roll of the eyes, interjections, or clashing opinions. But nothing came.

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As they stepped out of the church, Gwen instinctively turned toward her car, not expecting further conversation. She was already beginning to mentally list what else needed doing. But before she reached the driver’s side, Elizabeth called out from behind her, voice light but deliberate. “Gwen—wait a second.”

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Gwen paused. Elizabeth caught up, hands folded in front of her. “Would you like to grab lunch?” she asked. “There’s that café nearby—Cornerstone, I think it’s called?” Gwen blinked. The question hung oddly in the air. In twenty years, Elizabeth had never once invited her to share a meal.

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She hadn’t come to their wedding dinner, nor to any anniversary gatherings or birthdays. The sudden gesture felt too unexpected, too out of place. Gwen’s first instinct was suspicion. But then again, the thought of returning to a quiet house, heating leftovers alone, didn’t feel appealing either.

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“Alright,” Gwen replied, careful not to sound too surprised. “Cornerstone’s fine.” As they walked to their cars, she tried to make sense of it. Maybe grief softened people. Maybe Elizabeth was trying to show maturity. Or maybe, Gwen thought cautiously, she just didn’t want to be alone either.

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The café was modest and quiet, tucked between a florist and a bookstore. They ordered small lunches—soup for Gwen, a sandwich for Elizabeth. The conversation began stiffly. They traded polite updates: work, the weather, grocery prices. Gwen stirred her soup slowly, unsure what direction, if any, the meal would take.

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After a pause, Elizabeth glanced up. “The hotel I booked has bedbugs,” she said, almost sheepishly. “Apparently, there’s a shortage of rooms this weekend. I’ve called around, but everything’s booked or sketchy. I hate to ask, but… would it be alright if I stayed at the house for a few days?”

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Gwen looked up, startled. She wasn’t sure what she had expected from lunch—but it wasn’t this. Her first instinct was hesitation. The house had felt like a fragile retreat these past few weeks. The idea of sharing it, especially with someone she didn’t fully trust, felt unsettling.

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Still, Elizabeth’s request didn’t come with pressure. She hadn’t demanded anything—just asked, with quiet restraint. Gwen folded her hands around her cup and thought for a moment. The house did have space. And this wasn’t just anyone. It was Albert’s daughter. Saying no felt unnecessarily cold.

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She nodded slowly. “Alright. You can stay for a few days. I wouldn’t want you to miss the funeral.” Elizabeth gave a grateful smile. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.” Gwen gave a small nod in return, still unsure whether the gesture was genuine or something else entirely.

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As they left the café, Gwen walked a few paces behind. Her mind circled around the conversation, around the invitation she had just extended. She reminded herself it was only for a few days. And for now, maybe company wouldn’t be the worst thing.

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That evening, Gwen prepared the guest room—fresh sheets, clean towel, no fuss. She moved quietly through the motions, still trying to process the sudden shift in their dynamic. As she turned off the light and closed the door behind her, she wasn’t sure what was to come next.

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The next morning, Gwen expected the usual distance. Instead, Elizabeth was already downstairs, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea. She didn’t say much—just nodded when Gwen entered and slid the sugar bowl toward her. Gwen murmured thanks and sat across from her, unsure what to say.

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They drank their tea in silence. Gwen wasn’t sure if she was supposed to say something—or if silence was better. Elizabeth didn’t look uncomfortable, just quiet. Like two people cautiously sharing the same space.

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After breakfast, Gwen loaded the dishwasher and was surprised to find Elizabeth drying the counter beside her. “You don’t have to do that,” Gwen said. “I know.” Elizabeth didn’t look up. “Just feels better than sitting around.” Gwen nodded. She understood that part—grief didn’t leave much room for stillness.

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Later, Gwen pulled out the folder of church documents to revisit the guest list. Elizabeth hovered nearby. “Need help?” she asked. Gwen hesitated, then handed her the list. “If you want to cross-check a few names, that’d be useful.” Elizabeth nodded and took a seat at the opposite end of the table.

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For the next hour, they worked quietly, each focused on their own pile. Elizabeth didn’t interrupt. She didn’t comment on Gwen’s choices or question her handwriting. When she found a missing phone number, she just circled it and passed the page back with a short nod. It was simple, but smooth.

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That evening, they ate leftovers side by side at the kitchen island. Conversation was minimal—mostly logistical. Elizabeth asked whether they had finalized the order of service. Gwen said not yet. “If you want,” Elizabeth offered, “I can help pull some old hymns. I think Dad liked that green booklet.” Gwen nodded.

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The next morning, Gwen found the trash bins had been rolled out to the curb. A small thing, really—but she hadn’t remembered to do it herself. She didn’t mention it. Elizabeth didn’t bring it up either. But it lingered in Gwen’s mind longer than she expected.

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When Gwen stepped outside, she noticed that the porch had been swept. And one of the garden chairs—long wobbly—had been moved inside. Again, Elizabeth didn’t mention handling any of these chores. Gwen didn’t know whether to feel grateful or suspicious. She wasn’t used to this version of Elizabeth.

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That afternoon, Gwen returned from the garden and paused in the hallway when she heard Elizabeth on the phone. “Yes, Friday at eleven. Yes, confirmed,” she said. A notepad sat open beside her. When she saw Gwen, she held up the list. “That was the florist—they needed a final headcount.”

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Gwen nodded slowly. “Thanks for handling that.” Elizabeth shrugged. “You already had too much going on.” The answer wasn’t overthought, just practical. Gwen lingered for a second before heading to the kitchen. The quiet competence was… unexpected, but not unwelcome.

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Later, Gwen sat at the dining table with a stack of sympathy cards, reading a few and setting most aside. Elizabeth joined her with two mugs of tea. “I sorted the ones from neighbors if you want to start replying.” Gwen gave a faint smile. “Maybe next week.”

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Next day, Gwen sat with her morning coffee and stared at her laptop for what felt like eternity. Unsure what to do, she called out towards the hallway, “Elizabeth? Do you mind helping with something?” Elizabeth appeared in the doorway. “Of course. What is it?” Gwen pointed to the insurance policy. “I don’t know how to word the first email. Could you draft it?”

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Elizabeth took the seat beside her and read through the document. “Sure. You want it to be polite but firm, right? Something like: Dear Ms. Hartley, I am writing to confirm receipt of policy 294B1 in the name of Albert M. Dawson…” Gwen watched her type. The tone was perfect.

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When the email was finished, Elizabeth saved it as a draft and slid the laptop back toward Gwen. “Want to read it before sending it?” Gwen skimmed it, then clicked send without changes. “That’s good,” she said. “Thank you.” Elizabeth nodded, already reaching for the next stack of documents.

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That evening, they had dinner in front of the TV—something Gwen hadn’t done in weeks. Elizabeth didn’t fill the silence with unnecessary talk. She just sat nearby, sometimes commenting on the news, sometimes not. Gwen realized she wasn’t bracing for conflict anymore. She wasn’t second-guessing every word.

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Gwen thought the grief would feel sharper with Elizabeth around, or that she’d have to endure passive-aggressive remarks at every turn. Instead, what formed between them was quiet. Mutual. It wasn’t affection, not yet—but it was support. And Gwen, though hesitant at first, was beginning to feel grateful.

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One morning, Gwen woke up with her head pounding. She’d cried herself to sleep the night before—memories of Albert too loud to ignore. Her limbs felt heavy, her thoughts slow. She dragged herself out of bed, just to get water, barely able to walk straight without gripping the wall.

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Elizabeth spotted her in the hallway and frowned. “Are you alright?” Gwen shook her head. “Just a headache. Slept badly.” Elizabeth nodded quickly. “Sit down. I’ll make you some tea.” Gwen didn’t argue. She lowered herself into the chair at the kitchen table and rested her forehead on her palm.

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Minutes later, Elizabeth placed a cup of tea in front of her, along with toast and a mild painkiller. “Eat something. Then take this.” Gwen reached for the mug slowly, touched by the effort. No fuss, no dramatics. Just someone noticing. She felt her throat tighten. “Thank you,” she whispered.

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As she returned to bed, Gwen curled up under the blanket and blinked back sudden tears. The weight of the kindness settled deep in her chest. She hadn’t expected anyone to look after her like this—not Elizabeth, especially. And yet, here she was. Gwen felt almost undeserving of it.

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She lay there, drowsy, waiting for the medicine to take hold. The light coming through the curtains was soft. Just as she was drifting off, Elizabeth entered the room holding a neat stack of papers. “Hey, sorry,” she said. “These are invoices from the vendors—just need a few signatures.”

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Gwen blinked, confused. “Now?” she asked, her voice low. “Can it wait?” Elizabeth gave a gentle shake of her head. “I wish it could. But the service is in three days, and these need to go out today to confirm everything. It’s just a few signatures—I’ve checked the totals already.”

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Gwen sighed and sat up slowly. Her hands were unsteady, but she took the pen. Elizabeth flipped the pages, pointing to the spots with sticky tabs. “Just here… and here… and this one.” Gwen signed each one. Her mind was cloudy, and she trusted Elizabeth had checked everything.

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Hours later, Gwen woke up to a completely silent house. She called Elizabeth’s name, but got no response. Gwen got up, still groggy, and walked to the guest room. The bed was empty. Her suitcase—gone. Not a trace.

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In the kitchen, Gwen finally found a note stuck to the refrigerator. Elizabeth’s handwriting was quick, as if written on the go. Found a hotel I could stay in—decided to move over there. That was all. No goodbye. No explanation. Gwen stood there, confused. Why would she leave in such a hurry?

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Gwen stood in the kitchen longer than she realized, the note still in her hand. She called Elizabeth, twice. Straight to voicemail. A third time, just to be sure. Same result. She stared at the fridge, heart pounding, unsure what had just happened—or why it felt so wrong.

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She debated texting but hesitated. What would she even say? She didn’t want to seem needy. Elizabeth was an adult. She had every right to leave if she wanted. Still, the silence sat heavy on Gwen’s chest. She put the phone down and quietly went back to bed.

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The next morning, Gwen woke to five missed calls from her lawyer. Her chest tightened. She didn’t waste time with coffee. Instead, she called him back immediately, pressing the phone to her ear with growing dread. Something in her already knew this wouldn’t be a routine conversation.

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“Hi Gwen,” he said. “I was trying to reach you yesterday. I just need your signature on the insurance paperwork to finalize everything. The rest of the transfer is done.” Gwen furrowed her brow. “What transfer?” she asked slowly. Her voice felt far away, like it belonged to someone else.

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“Elizabeth submitted the documents yesterday evening,” he said. “The house, the accounts, Albert’s car—all the legal assets. You’d signed off on everything earlier this week. I just need your sign-off on the life insurance form now.” Gwen went silent. She could hear the sound of her own breath.

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She didn’t even say goodbye. She hung up and dropped the phone on the counter. Her heart raced. The invoices. The sticky notes. The signatures. Her hands shook as her mind replayed the scene—Elizabeth standing over her, calm, reassuring. Gwen had signed everything. And she hadn’t read a word.

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She grabbed her phone again and dialed Elizabeth. Voicemail. Again. “Elizabeth, call me right now,” she said into the receiver. Her voice cracked. She tried again. And again. Texts followed. I got a call from the lawyer, surely this is a misunderstanding right? Why would you do this??

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No answer. Gwen stood in the hallway, the house echoing around her. All the warmth of the past week curdled in her memory. Every small kindness now looked staged—rehearsed. She had been a project. A task. A person to be managed. Gwen felt sick.

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Later that afternoon, she walked into a local firm and asked to see a lawyer—someone new. She told him everything. The headache. The grief. The signatures. The trust. The lawyer reviewed the documents silently, then looked at her gently. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But you signed them willingly.”

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Gwen swallowed hard. “Even if I wasn’t well?” He nodded slowly. “You were lucid. And the paperwork is airtight. This would be very difficult to undo and even if you try, you might rack up a lot in legal fees without even getting your assets back.” Gwen sat back in the chair. Her body felt hollow. Her mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

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That evening, she returned home and walked through each room feeling desolate. She wanted to cry but felt too numb to even do that. First she lost her husband and then to get duped and tricked into losing this home, all the memories they had built together was devastating.

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She sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing, stunned by how swiftly everything had been taken. She felt foolish for having trusted Elizabeth and utterly helpless. There was nothing she could do about any of it. She finally let loose and let the tears flow. What Gwen didn’t know however, that her misery wasn’t going to last that long.

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The morning of the funeral, Gwen dressed with trembling hands. She slipped into a black dress Albert had always liked on her. She dabbed concealer under her eyes and reached for oversized sunglasses. She wouldn’t give Elizabeth the satisfaction of seeing her broken. Not today. Not anymore.

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At the church, Gwen kept her composure. The hall was filled with mourners, soft organ music playing in the background. Elizabeth sat across the aisle in a fitted black coat, chin slightly lifted. When their eyes met, she gave the faintest smirk—small, but smug enough to twist Gwen’s stomach.

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Gwen’s fingers curled instinctively. She wanted to walk across the aisle and slap that expression off Elizabeth’s face. To scream. To demand an answer. But she didn’t. Not here. This was the last time she’ll get to see Albert. She wasn’t going to let Elizabeth contaminate such precious moments.

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The service moved quietly. Words were read. Hands were held. When it ended, Gwen was speaking to a family friend when two men in suits approached her gently. “Excuse us—are you Mrs. Dawson?” one of them asked. Gwen nodded. “We’re from the bank. We need to speak to the estate owner.”

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Confused, Gwen gestured toward Elizabeth. “She’s handling the estate now,” she said, voice measured. The men thanked her and walked toward Elizabeth. Gwen turned back toward a waiting guest and continued her quiet nods and half-smiles, trying not to let her confusion distract her from the moment.

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She was hugging Albert’s second cousin goodbye when it happened—a sharp, guttural scream from the other side of the church. Heads turned. Gwen whipped around. Elizabeth stood near the pews, clutching a document. Her eyes were wide, hands trembling, and her breathing fast, shallow. She looked as if she’d seen a ghost.

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People rushed over, murmurs rippling through the crowd. Gwen stepped closer just in time to hear the men explaining. The house had been mortgaged—used as collateral against a massive business loan Albert had taken out. Half a million dollars. Gwen’s breath caught. Even she hadn’t known.

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The men from the bank were clear: as the sole inheritor of Albert’s estate, Elizabeth was now responsible for the entire loan. The car, the house, the savings—it wouldn’t be enough to cover it. The debt was hers now. Gwen said nothing. She didn’t need to.

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For days, Gwen had been walking around hollowed out—haunted by what she’d lost. Her husband, her home, the memories she thought would be hers to keep. But in that moment, watching Elizabeth break down, something shifted. Gwen hadn’t lost everything. Not really.

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Elizabeth had stolen ash and thought it was gold. And now she stood at the center of the church, unravelling in front of hundreds of people. Gwen didn’t want to admit, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t feeling satisfied.

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Elizabeth stood frozen, lips parted, eyes darting between the men and the paper. She looked pale, disoriented. Gwen watched her for a long moment, then turned away. She stepped outside, past the guests and out into the open air. The sky had cleared. The wind was soft against her skin.

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She tilted her head back, looking up at the pale blue sky. “Thank you,” she whispered under her breath. She didn’t know if Albert had planned it. But some part of her believed he had left her this one last shield. Her dignity. Her escape.

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