When my father’s will was read, it felt like everything I thought I knew was about to crumble. It wasn’t just a will—it was a challenge. A challenge that would change everything.
The lawyer opened the envelope, and my heart raced. The air in the room suddenly felt thick, heavy. I could barely breathe as the rain outside beat against the windows, mirroring the pounding of my heart.
A coffee cup sat abandoned on the lawyer’s desk, untouched, a tiny detail that somehow made everything feel even more surreal. His voice drifted on like an echo, not really reaching me.
“Farm… house… bank accounts… watch collection…”
But then, the condition.
There’s always a condition, isn’t there?
“To my children, Jen and Henry, on the condition that both remain married for the next five years. Any divorce during this period will forfeit one party’s share, leaving the full estate to the other.”
I looked at Henry. He was leaning back in his chair, looking too pleased with himself, his fingers tapping lazily on the armrest. A small smirk was playing on his lips, as if he’d already won. Sarah, his wife, sat beside him, calm and collected. They looked like they could take on anything and still come out on top.
Then I turned to Ted. My husband. His body was stiff, his eyes focused on some point far away, his jaw clenched like a man who was about to face something terrible. If guilt had a face, it was his.
The affair that I had discovered months ago was a ticking bomb, a secret I’d been planning to handle—until now. My father’s will had just made everything more complicated.
As we walked out of the office, Henry sidled up next to me, his voice casual but his words sharp.
“Well, sis,” he drawled, shoving his hands into his pockets, “looks like Dad wants us to play nice. Not that I mind. Sarah and I are solid. But you…” He trailed off, his smirk widening as he studied me. I could feel the weight of his words before they even left his mouth. Henry knew something. He knew more than he let on.
“Think you’ve got what it takes to keep it together?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
I glared at him. “Don’t you have something better to do, Henry?”
He chuckled, tipping an imaginary hat. “Touché. But seriously, good luck. You’ll need it.”
His words hit harder than I wanted to admit, but I stayed silent. I knew this was going to be a battle. A battle neither of us was fully prepared for.
The next two weeks were like walking on a tightrope, with no safety net beneath me. Every night with Ted was an unspoken fight, a cold war of avoidance.
“Dinner’s on the stove,” I would mutter.
“Thanks,” he’d reply, never looking up from his phone.
The silence between us grew thicker with every passing day. It wasn’t love that kept us together anymore. It was the will. And the thought of it made everything feel like a lie.
I spent most of my evenings staring out the window, looking at the farm. The farm was my father’s legacy, my refuge. Every tree, every fence post carried a memory of him. I could still hear his voice, soft and steady, teaching me how to care for the animals or fix things around the farm.
Henry, though? He never cared about any of it. He borrowed money endlessly, went on lavish trips with Sarah, and threw parties as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
The thought of him inheriting the farm made my hands tremble so much one morning that I cracked my coffee mug.
Ted noticed. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low.
“Fine,” I snapped, my tone sharper than I meant.
He backed off, just like always.
Meanwhile, Henry was as carefree as ever. He called me three times in one week, his voice annoyingly chipper.
“Just checking in, sis. How’s Ted?” he asked the first time.
“Same as always,” I answered, keeping my voice cool.
“Great, great,” he replied, like we were talking about the weather.
Then he invited us over for dinner.
Ted and I arrived at his house that Saturday evening, stepping into a picture-perfect scene. The table was set with fine china, and candles flickered softly in the dim light. Sarah moved gracefully around the room, but the tightness in her smile told me something was wrong.
Over the main course, Henry launched into a story about his “big plans” for a work trip abroad.
“Paris this time,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Meetings, dinners, the usual grind.”
But Sarah couldn’t hold it in anymore. She slammed her fork onto her plate, her voice breaking.
“Enough!” she shouted. “I know this trip isn’t about work. It’s just another excuse to run away from me!”
The room went quiet, all eyes on her as she stood up, shaking with emotion.
“You think I don’t see it, Henry? Fine. We’re done.”
With that, she stormed out, her chair spinning behind her. Henry sighed, but it wasn’t the sigh of a man who was surprised. He looked like he had been waiting for this.
That night, he showed up at my house. A folder in his hand, a dry chuckle in his voice.
“Well, Jen,” he said, “you win. My marriage is over, but yours is still standing. Guess I lost that bet too.”
He looked defeated, his shoulders slumped in a way I hadn’t seen before.
“Sarah kicked me out,” he added quietly.
Guilt gnawed at me, but I couldn’t turn him away. I couldn’t forget he was my brother, even though I wanted to. So, I let him stay in the guest house.
As he walked away, I couldn’t shake the question: Do I even want to win this game?
Henry settled into the guest house like he owned the place. He made himself comfortable, acting like nothing had happened. I should have been furious, but part of me felt sorry for him. Despite everything, he was still my brother.
“Morning, sis!” he called one day, juggling a coffee cup and a piece of toast.
“Henry, you’re not staying here forever,” I warned, my voice firm as I wiped my hands on a towel.
“Who says I am?” he replied with a grin. “Just getting comfy while I figure things out.”
It made my stomach turn, watching him act like everything was fine while my life was falling apart. Ted and I barely spoke anymore. His absence felt normal now.
One morning, after another night of him not coming home, I waited for him in the kitchen. When he finally walked in, his clothes wrinkled and his face tired, I knew what I had to do.
“We need to talk,” I said, my voice cold.
He stopped and sat down without a word.
“I’m filing for divorce. And don’t bother pretending. I know about the affair.”
“I won’t argue,” he said quietly, his eyes avoiding mine. “You deserve better than this.”
“Is that it?” I asked, incredulous. “No excuses? No trying to fix this?”
He shook his head. “What’s left to fix, Jen? We both know this has been over for a while.”
The divorce was quick. I left Ted everything—the house, the furniture, even the pictures on the walls. It was easier to walk away than to keep pretending.
I packed my bags, leaving behind the ruins of my marriage, and moved to the farm.
The farm was supposed to be my fresh start. I was unloading my car, waiting for the lawyer’s call to confirm the farm was officially mine. But when I stepped onto the porch, my heart sank.
There, standing with a champagne glass in hand, was Henry, surrounded by friends. His grin was smug, his eyes glinting with victory.
“You thought I really divorced Sarah?” he mocked, swirling the champagne. “That we’d throw everything away for nothing?”
The realization hit me like a slap.
“You knew about Ted,” I whispered, stunned.
“Oh, of course,” Henry said smoothly. “Sarah saw him with his secretary. We figured we’d help you out… give you a little push.”
“You staged the whole thing?” I gasped.
He shrugged, still grinning. “You played your part perfectly, sis. Didn’t even question it. So predictable.”
My fists clenched. “You used me.”
“Don’t take it personally,” he said, winking. “It’s just business, Jen. And now it’s all mine.”
I felt a sickness in my stomach. “Henry…”
He waved me off. “Relax. The farm’s boring. Stay here if you want.”
And in that moment, I realized something: I had truly lost everything.
Henry’s celebration didn’t last. The next day, he disappeared, leaving me in the silence of an empty house. I wandered the rooms, touching the old furniture and books my father had loved.
In the library, I found something. A book. My father’s voice came back to me.
“This book is keeping a secret,” he used to say, pointing to the top shelf. “One day, you’ll be tall enough to find it.”
I reached for it now. As I pulled it down, dust floated into the air. An envelope slipped out. My name was written on the front in my father’s handwriting.
I whispered, “What now, Dad?” as tears filled my eyes.
The letter read:
“Jen, honey,
Inheritance is more than just things. It’s what you build around you. I hope you’ll make the right choice. The estate belongs to the one brave enough to leave behind illusions for the sake of truth.
I knew both your and Henry’s marriages were on the brink. But I trust you to see past the lies. If the farm is yours now, don’t abandon your brother. He deserves a second chance.
Love, Dad”
I sat there, holding the letter.
Later, I called the lawyer. “Is it true? There’s another clause?”
“Yes. The farm is yours, Jen.”
Weeks passed. Anger churned inside me, but my father’s words stayed with me. Henry wasn’t just my rival. He was my brother. When he came back, broken and humbled, I opened the door.
“Let me guess,” I said, crossing my arms. “You need help.”
Henry looked down, shame written all over his face. “You were right. I messed up. But Jen, I’ve got nowhere else to go.”
I sighed. “You can stay. But you’re working for it. Every day.”
He nodded quickly. “Deal. Thanks, sis.”
At first, it was tense, but slowly, things started to change. Henry surprised me. He worked hard. He met Lyra, a kind woman who brought out the best in him.
One evening, as we sat on the porch, watching the sunset, Henry turned to me with a smile.
“You were always the better one, Jen.”
I laughed. “We both are. That’s what Dad wanted.”
