Gwen pulled out her phone and called Elizabeth. Voicemail. She called again. Voicemail. She texted: Is everything okay? No reply. The house felt emptier than it had before Elizabeth arrived—like someone had filled the hollow with light, then snuffed it out.
The next morning, Gwen’s phone rang at 7 a.m. She fumbled for it, her eyes still crusty with sleep, and saw “Lawyer – Mr. Carter” on the screen. Her stomach dropped. She’d been avoiding Mr. Carter, the attorney who’d handled Albert’s will. She wasn’t ready to talk about inheritances, about who got what. But she answered anyway.
“Gwen,” Mr. Carter said, his voice too cheerful. “Good morning! Just need your signature on one final document. Elizabeth dropped off all the rest yesterday—the house, the bank accounts, the car. Everything’s in order. You just need to sign off on the life insurance, and we’re done.”
Gwen’s blood ran cold. “Wait. What?”
“Elizabeth submitted the paperwork,” he repeated, like she hadn’t heard. “She said you’d gone over it with her—signed the transfer forms for the estate assets. Said you were feeling unwell, so she helped you organize it. All I need is your signature on the insurance, and it’s finalized.”
Gwen’s hand flew to her mouth. The papers. The ones she’d signed yesterday, half-asleep, her head pounding. She’d thought they were vendor invoices. But they weren’t. They were transfer forms. Elizabeth had tricked her.
All those little kindnesses— the tea, the toast, the folded sheets, the help with the funeral—had been a setup. A act. Elizabeth had played her, used her grief and her migraine and her stupid, foolish trust to steal everything Albert had left her.
“I didn’t sign transfer forms,” Gwen said, her voice shaking. “I signed invoices. She lied to me.”
Mr. Carter’s tone softened. “I’m sorry, Gwen. But the paperwork has your signature. Dated yesterday. It’s legally binding.”
Gwen hung up the phone and threw it across the room. It hit the wall and cracked, but she didn’t care. She sank to the floor, her knees pulled to her chest, and screamed—loud, raw, the sound tearing out of her. She’d been so stupid. So desperate for someone to share the grief with, she’d let the enemy in.