I once believed love would shield me from everything. Theo, my husband, promised he’d always catch me. When he asked me to quit my finance job to be a stay-at-home mom, he assured me I’d never have to worry. I said yes, and we had twin girls, Hazel and Ivy—our whole world.
He was returning from a business trip on a rainy afternoon when his car skidded off the road. The officer said it was quick, but my heart shattered. The funeral passed in a blur, and I clung to Theo’s last voicemail, thinking nothing could hurt more.
But the pain came in another form.
After the funeral, my mother-in-law Selene told me Theo never changed the house deed—she still owned it. She offered I stay in the garage. I nodded, desperate to keep a roof over my girls’ heads.
The garage was cold and lonely. Theo left money, but legal hurdles left me stranded—no access to funds, no job, no place to go. Selene barely acknowledged me; she had won.
One day, while the girls drew pictures of their dad, Ivy asked why I slept in the garage. Hazel added, “Grandma sleeps in your bed.” I forced a smile and a vague answer.
Selene overheard and for the first time looked regretful—but said nothing.
Later, Selene came to the garage, holding a letter Theo wrote before his last trip. He’d intended the house to be mine and trusted me to care for the girls. Selene admitted her harshness was from grief and anger, and she asked me to come back inside.
I took the letter and stepped back into the house—not for Selene, but for Theo, the girls, and myself. The storm wasn’t over, but maybe it was time to rebuild.