One hand rested over my growing belly.
In the other, I held Russell’s letter.
By then, the paper was soft along the folds from being opened too many times.
I read the final paragraph again.
Then I remembered our wedding night.
Marlene beside the staircase.
Her certainty that I was waiting to inherit everything.
Russell behind her.
His calm voice.
She’ll get exactly what she deserves.
At the time, the words had frightened me.
Later, I thought they referred to the estate.
Now I finally understood.
“Exactly what you deserve,” I whispered.
It wasn’t the house.
It wasn’t the company.
It wasn’t the money.
Russell had spent our marriage showing me something I had never known how to give myself.
The right to be cared for without earning every ounce of kindness first.
The right to occupy space without apologizing.
The right to be loved even when I had nothing useful to offer in return.
