I had told myself I could be straightforward about my marriage.
Russell was thirty years older.
He had a fortune.
I had married him knowing both facts.
Money had influenced me.
I did not want to disguise that.
But admitting something about myself did not make the rest of my marriage easy to explain.
And it did not tell me what Russell had written.
I looked at the envelope again.
There was my name.
His handwriting.
Nothing more that I could see.
I wondered whether I had been expecting the wrong kind of answer from the lawyer.
I had looked at him as though he could explain everything.
As though Russell's final wishes were his to interpret.
But the lawyer had made his role clear.
He was there to carry out instructions.
Russell wanted me to open the object.
Russell wanted his children present.
Those instructions had been followed.
What remained was mine to discover.
I kept returning to the way Victoria had laughed.
She had called her father dramatic.
I wondered whether I had been too serious.
Then I looked at the envelope and knew I could not force myself to feel differently.
A funeral had taken place.
My husband was gone.
And someone who could no longer speak had arranged for me to receive something in front of his children.
There was nothing amusing about that to me.
I thought about what the money had meant when I married Russell.
Security.
That was the word I had used in my own mind.
It was a comfortable word.
More respectable than greed.
Less embarrassing than admitting that a fortune could affect my decisions.
But I knew the truth was not changed by choosing a gentler word.
His wealth had mattered.
I could not take that fact back.
I also could not use it to explain what was happening now.
A wealthy man had died.
His lawyer had followed instructions.
His family had gathered to witness an envelope being opened.
Those events were clear.
Their meaning was not.
I looked down at the paper.
I had never imagined that recognizing someone's handwriting could leave me feeling so uncertain.
It ought to have made the moment easier.
It did not.
I knew Russell had written my name.
I knew he had intended the envelope to be found.
But I did not know whether the words inside concerned money at all.
I was embarrassed by how quickly I had assumed they might.
The thought had come before I had any evidence.
That was something I had to admit.
I had seen a lawyer.
I had seen Russell's children.
I had seen an object deliberately kept closed.
And my mind had begun making connections.
But those connections were mine.
Russell had not yet explained anything to me through the envelope.
I had no right to claim that he had.
I could not say what his children expected.
I could not say what Victoria knew.
I could not say what the lawyer thought of my marriage.
I could only speak for myself.
And I had been frightened.
Not by an accusation.
Not by a discovery.
By the possibility that the message might tell me something I had never understood.
I looked at the brass fastening again.
It was open now.
It had done its job.
Whatever Russell intended, he had made certain I would find the envelope.
That was the one part of the arrangement I could understand.
I turned my attention back to my name.
The letters were ordinary.
The paper was ordinary.
And yet I knew I would remember seeing them.
I could not explain why without pretending to know what lay inside.
I refused to do that.
There had already been too much guessing in my mind.
I wanted to read what Russell had actually left me.
I wanted his words, not my fears.
For a moment, I thought about the difference between those two things.
My fears had made the envelope seem threatening.
My curiosity had made it seem important.
My memories had made it feel personal.
But none of those feelings could tell me what Russell had written.
I looked at the lawyer once more.
He had said Russell wanted me to open it.
That was the final clear instruction I had received.
I looked down.
The envelope was still there.
Waiting for the only person whose name appeared on it.
Mine.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: After Russell’s Funeral, I Finally Understood What His Lawyer Could Tell Me and What Only the Unopened Envelope Could Reveal
I Thought My Husband’s Death Would Finally Answer My Questions, but His Lawyer Had One Last Instruction I Never Expected
Part 7 of 8
