For almost two decades, he was more than just a partner to me; he was my other half.
We never saw the need for formal ties or felt empty because we didn’t have children.
Our relationship was based on mutual understanding, created according to our own rules, contrary to all traditions.
When contraception became an issue, he decided to have a vasectomy — a sign of his commitment to our childless lifestyle and proof of our unique philosophy of life.
However, everything fell apart when I found out he had been unfaithful.
Heartbroken, I left, and six months later I found out that he had married the woman he had been having an affair with.
This news was a painful reminder of how different our ideas of fidelity were.
Life took me down a new path, and a year after starting a relationship with my current partner, I found out I was pregnant.
Despite initial uncertainty, we embraced our unexpected family and found fulfilment and happiness in ways I could never have imagined.
My ex, however, seemed unable to let go of the past.
His random messages on holidays and birthdays went unanswered, as I had clearly separated our past life from my newfound peace.
When he found out about my daughter, he reacted with accusations, his anger reawakening pain that I thought was long gone.
His last message, full of baseless accusations, was the final nail in the coffin.
A few months later, I received the shocking news of his death in a tragic accident.
This news hit me hard, bringing back a flood of memories and a sobering realisation of how quickly life can change.
The situation became more complicated when I learned that his wife was pregnant, a detail that added a new layer of complexity to our shared history.
The story took an unexpected turn when I was contacted by a solicitor who informed me that I was the primary beneficiary of his estate.
Despite everything, he left me most of his fortune, with only small portions allocated to his family.
His decision seemed as stunning as it was unexpected, raising questions and feelings that I thought I had long since buried.
The realisation of this inheritance stirred up unresolved emotions, and I wondered why he had made such a decision and what it meant for my current life.
It seemed like an attempt to reach out from the afterlife, an invitation to rethink a relationship that had long since ended.
Then came the letter he had written before his death.
His words contained a sincere apology and an unexpected confession.
He expressed his love for me and wished my family happiness.
He admitted that his marriage was not a loving union, but merely a manipulative relationship.
His wife, he wrote, had kept him for financial stability – a revelation that changed the perception of his will.
The following weeks were chaotic.
His family, having learned of the will, began calling, demanding and begging for their share of the inheritance.
Their persistence made my decision clearer, and I eventually blocked their numbers, deciding to maintain my peace amid all the chaos.
Mixed with hesitation and acceptance, I decided to honour his final gesture by accepting the inheritance, knowing that it would provide a secure future for my family.
I did not attend his funeral, but later visited his grave and quietly gave thanks for what we had and for the opportunity his inheritance had given me.
As I left his grave, I felt a mixture of emotions, questions floating in the silence.
Had I done the right thing?
Could I have bridged the gap, perhaps found a compromise to soften his family’s resentment?
The weight of this inheritance, which brought stability, still made me wonder if I had really chosen the best path — for my family and for the memory of the man who, despite our rift, left me everything.
What would you have done in my situation?
Share your thoughts.
