Marina had shared sixteen years with Elias—years built on quiet mornings, familiar routines, and plans they believed would last a lifetime. When he died suddenly, the loss felt unreal. At the will reading, she sat still, certain that at least the apartment they’d shared would remain hers.
Instead, the lawyer announced that Elias had left everything to the children from his first marriage.
Outside, his ex-wife Nadine was waiting. Her expression was sharp. “You were never meant to inherit,” she said coldly. “A wife without children gets nothing.” She demanded Marina leave the apartment immediately.
Too stunned to fight, Marina left with one suitcase and a grief too heavy to argue. She spent two sleepless nights in a small guesthouse, replaying everything she thought love had promised her.
On the third morning, her phone rang. It was Nadine—but her voice was shaking. “You have to come back. Please.”
When Marina arrived, the apartment door stood open. Nadine sat on the floor, surrounded by scattered papers and an old wooden box. She handed Marina a letter.
Elias had secretly set aside a bank account in Marina’s name and transferred a small seaside cottage to her—intended as an anniversary surprise. Proof he had planned for her future.
The cottage was modest. The money limited. But it was love, made tangible.
Marina looked at Nadine—not as an enemy, but as another woman grieving the same man from a different place.
“Let’s do this the right way,” Marina said quietly.
And in that moment, grief softened into understanding—and healing, at last, began.
