When my father died, he left me an inheritance with one clear condition: “Finish your education. Build your own life.”. I barely touched the money. I was too busy drowning in a different kind of sorrow. I had lost my husband, Edward, around the same time, and I learned quickly that grief is a kind of disease for which no cure can be found.
For months, I walked through life like a zombie. And those days when life and its living proves harder than usual, I feel your absence all the more. There was no comfort from his embrace, no soothing from his voice.
Eventually, I started dating again. I met a man who seemed perfect. He knew about my father’s money but never brought it up—until he lost his job. At first, I supported him, paying bills and rent. But then, weeks turned into months, and instead of job hunting, he started planning a “business” I was apparently funding.
I tried to ignore the red flags. To distract myself, I threw myself into helping my friend Phil, who had called me whispering, “I need your help — Ryan and I are throwing a tiny engagement party. It’s a surprise, don’t tell a soul!”. I became the party planner, obsessed with pink and gold balloons, fairy lights, silk flowers—all those festive touches.
On the day of the party, things came to a head. That morning, I found a spreadsheet on my partner’s laptop. He had already divided my inheritance into categories: “Car, investments, vacation.”. My name wasn’t on a single line. When I confronted him, he had the nerve to say, “If you love me, you’ll invest in us. I’m your future.”.
Shaken but in denial, I took him with me to the party, which was doubling as a family gathering. We showed up, and right away, something felt off. My late husband’s family was there. They kept staring at [him]… not jealous, more like they’d seen a ghost!.
Suddenly, Edward’s brother marched up to us, looked straight at me, and yelled, ‘YOU IDIOT!’.
He wasn’t yelling at me for dating. He pulled up a news article on his phone. My “new partner” was a known con artist who targeted grieving widows. The “ghost” they had seen wasn’t spiritual; it was the ghost of a scam they had seen on the news.
I realized then that I wasn’t alone. Just like the story of the baby with “severe jaundice” whose life was saved because a stranger on social media warned the mother to “Get to the ER now”, my family and friends were my safety net. I realized social media isn’t just a highlight reel. Sometimes, it’s a modern-day village looking out for us.
I kicked him out that night. I told him I’m not his ATM, packed his things, and changed the locks.
Later, alone in the quiet house, I didn’t feel lonely. I felt protected. I opened Edward’s old journal and read the words that finally made sense: “In memory and dream I am returned to you, returned home.”. I knew that he had been watching out for me, through them. In the memory of my heart our forever continues..
