Vera stood in the kitchen, chopping vegetables mechanically, her mind distant. It had been a week since Anna had passed—time dragging on endlessly. The mother-in-law’s sudden departure, so soon after her husband’s, was a shock. While the doctors cited heart failure, Vera knew it wasn’t just the heart—it was the soul’s longing for Michael, after forty years together.
Outside, the gray October rain matched the somber mood. Then, the front door slammed open, and her husband, Andrew, entered with his sister Irene in tow.
“Sorry for showing up unannounced,” Irene said stiffly.
“Would you like some tea?” Vera asked, hiding her irritation.
Irene sat primly in an armchair, while Andrew poured himself a strong drink. After a quick toast to their mother, Andrew bluntly announced their decision to sell the summer house.
Vera was stunned. That very house—where she had cared for Anna and Michael—was about to be sold, as if it meant nothing. Andrew and Irene had hardly been there in years, but now they wanted to profit from it.
Despite Vera’s protests, Andrew and Irene were firm. They had the legal right, they said, but Vera’s heart broke at their lack of empathy. The next day, at the notary’s office, an unexpected revelation changed everything—Anna and Michael had left the house to Vera in their will, as thanks for her devotion.
Andrew and Irene were furious. The inheritance battle quickly turned bitter, but Vera stood her ground. As the dust settled, she rebuilt the summer house, honoring the memory of the people who had trusted her. And when the divorce came, Vera walked away, holding on to what truly mattered—the home and the love she had given.
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