For ten years, I was the steady one in my marriage to Curtis, and for the last three, I cared full-time for his dying father, Arthur. While Curtis played golf and networked, I cleaned wounds and read the paper to the man who became my true father figure.
Two days after Arthur’s funeral, Curtis showed his true colors. He dumped my suitcases in the driveway, handed me $10,000 as a “service fee,” and called me “dead weight.” As a new multimillionaire, he said, he didn’t need a “free nurse” tied to his past.
Three weeks later, at the will reading, Curtis celebrated when the lawyer announced a $75 million inheritance and mocked me for getting nothing—until the next page. Arthur had added a “Loyalty and Character Clause” just before his coma: Curtis would inherit only if he remained a devoted, respectful husband to the woman who cared for him. If he abandoned or divorced me, he’d lose the fortune and receive just $2,000 a month.
Curtis had already filed for divorce and thrown me out—triggering the clause himself. In an instant, everything shifted. He was left begging for a second chance, and I walked away with the house, the investments, and the $75 million Arthur intended for the daughter he chose.