After the service, Margaret approached us. Her eyes were red but dry, and her posture was stiff.
‘This is your fault,’ she said without preamble, her voice low but sharp enough to cut.
I stared at her, not understanding. ‘Excuse me?’
‘My son died because of you. If he hadn’t been rushing home to you and those children, he would still be alive.’
I froze. The police said Ryan’s accident happened on a stretch of highway not far from our house.
‘We are his family,’ I snapped, my voice shaking as I gestured towards the children. ‘And he loved us.’
Margaret’s lips tightened. ‘You lured him into a trap. You know it, and I know it.’
Before I could respond, she walked away, leaving me standing there with my mouth open, her accusations hanging in the air between us like poison.
‘Mum?’ Liam tugged at my sleeve. ‘What did Grandma Margaret mean? Are we to blame for Dad’s death?’
I quickly knelt down and took his little face in my hands. ‘No, sweetheart. Not at all. What happened to Daddy was a terrible accident, and no one is to blame. Grandma Margaret is just very upset and saying things she doesn’t mean.’
I forced myself to smile, even though my heart was breaking again. ‘Let’s go home.’
Two days after the funeral, I took the children out for ice cream, hoping that this little treat would bring a little normality back into our grief-stricken routine. When we returned, I almost crashed the car in shock.
Our belongings were piled on the side of the road in black garbage bags, like discarded rubbish waiting to be collected. Emma’s favourite blanket fell out of one of the bags, its pink edge fluttering in the wind.
‘Mum?’ her voice trembled. ‘Why is my blanket outside?’
I parked haphazardly and rushed to the front door. My key didn’t work. The lock had been replaced.
I knocked, then banged my fist on the wood. ‘Hello? Hello!’
The door swung open, and Margaret stood before me in a crisp linen trouser suit, looking as if she belonged there.
‘Oh, you’re back,’ she said, leaning against the doorframe. “I thought you’d take the hint. This house is mine now. You and your little brats need to find another place.”
I felt my body grow cold, then burn with rage. ‘Margaret, this is my home.’
She sneered. ‘It was my son’s home. And now that he’s gone, you have no right to it.’
Emma started crying behind me. Liam moved closer, his small body protecting his sister.
‘You can’t do this,’ I said, my voice shaking. ‘It’s illegal. This is our house.’
‘Sue me,’ Margaret replied with a cold smile. ‘Oh, wait, you can’t afford to, can you? Not without my son’s money.’
She stepped back and began to close the door. ‘I changed the locks, as you noticed. Don’t come back.’
The door closed in front of my nose. Behind me, Emma’s cries grew louder.
‘Where are we going to sleep?’ Liam asked, his voice quiet but trying hard to be brave.
I turned to my children, their faces pale with confusion and fear. ‘We’ll figure something out,’ I promised, though I had no idea how.
That night we slept in my car, parked in the car park. I reclined the front seat as far back as it would go. The children curled up in the back seat, covered with a few blankets I had taken from the bags on the side of the road.
‘It’ll be like camping,’ I told them with forced cheerfulness.
Emma fell asleep quickly, exhausted from crying. But Liam was awake, the lights of the car park reflected in his eyes.
‘Dad wouldn’t have let this happen,’ he whispered.
I reached back to squeeze his hand. ‘You’re right. Neither would I.’
The next morning, I took the children to school, assuring them that I would have everything sorted out by the time they were picked up. Then I got in the car and finally broke down.
When I could breathe again, I called Ryan’s solicitor, Robert. My hands were shaking so much that I could barely hold the phone.
‘Catherine,’ he replied warmly. ‘I was going to call you next week. How are you holding up?’
‘Not great. Margaret changed the locks on our house. She threw out our things. Last night we slept in my car.’
There was a pause, then, ‘What did she do?’
I repeated to myself, tears threatening again.
‘That’s illegal,’ Robert said, his voice firming. ‘Completely illegal. Does she really think…’ He stopped. ‘Did Ryan leave a will? Is that what you’re calling about?’
‘Yes,’ I whispered. ‘Please tell me he left one.’
‘He did. In fact, I was supposed to bring it to you next week.’ He paused. ‘Why don’t you come to my office right now?’
An hour later, I sat across from Robert as he picked up the document from his desk.
‘Ryan came to see me about six months ago,’ he explained. ‘He was worried about exactly this scenario.’
I looked down at the will, and Ryan’s familiar signature at the bottom brought a new wave of grief.
‘He left everything to you, Catherine,’ Robert said softly. ‘The house, his savings, his investments. Everything.’