When my late father’s will revealed that receiving the inheritance required staying married for five years, I thought I could manage. But my husband’s secret and my brother’s schemes shattered everything I believed in.
When the lawyer opened the will, my chest tightened. It felt like the air in the room had grown heavier, making it harder to breathe. Outside, the rain tapped insistently against the window, matching the rhythm of my pulse.
A cup of cold coffee sat abandoned on the lawyer’s desk, a forgotten detail that somehow made everything feel even more surreal.
The lawyer’s voice echoed, but the words blurred together.
“Farm… house… bank accounts… watch collection…”
Then came the condition.
There’s always a condition, isn’t there?
“To my children, Jen and Henry, on the condition that they both remain married for the next five years. Any divorce within this period will result in one party forfeiting their share, leaving the entire inheritance to the other.”
I glanced at Henry. He leaned back with a smug expression, his fingers lazily drumming against the armrest, a smirk playing on his lips.
Sarah, his wife, sat beside him, Henry’s hand resting lightly on her shoulder. They looked calm and composed. Of course, they seemed like they could win this game without breaking a sweat.
Then I turned to Ted. My husband. He sat stiffly, eyes fixed on some distant point, his jaw clenched. If guilt had a face, it would be his.
The affair I had discovered months ago was a ticking time bomb, one I had planned to defuse—until that moment.
As we left the office, Henry strolled up to me.
“Well, sis,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets, “looks like Dad wanted us to play nice. Not that I mind. Sarah and I are solid. But you…”
He trailed off, his smirk widening as he tilted his head, scrutinizing me.
Henry knew more than he let on. He had hinted at Ted’s affair months ago, casually mentioning that he had seen him at a hotel with his secretary.
His knowing grin stung like salt on an open wound. “Think you have what it takes to stay together?”
I swallowed down the sting of his words. “Shouldn’t you go gloat somewhere else, Henry?”
He chuckled, tipping an imaginary hat.
“Touché. But seriously, good luck. You’re gonna need it.”
Though his words cut deeper than I wanted to admit, I said nothing. This was a battle none of us were prepared for.
The next two weeks felt like walking a tightrope over a chasm. Evenings with Ted had turned into cold, silent battles. We exchanged only the bare minimum.
“Dinner’s on the stove,” I muttered.
“Thanks,” he replied without looking up from his phone.
The silence was suffocating. Every glance he avoided confirmed what I already knew: he was as trapped in this marriage as I was. Love no longer held us together. It was my father’s will.
Most nights, I found myself staring out the window. The farm meant everything to me. Every tree, every fence post held a memory. I could still hear my father’s firm yet gentle voice, teaching me how to fix something broken or care for a sick calf.
Henry, on the other hand, had never lifted a finger for any of it. He had borrowed money endlessly, thrown lavish parties, taken Sarah on extravagant trips.
The thought of him inheriting the farm made me grip my coffee cup so tightly one morning that it cracked.
“Are you okay?” Ted finally noticed.
“I’m fine,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.
He let it go, as always.
Meanwhile, Henry carried on as if he had nothing to worry about. He called me three times in one week, his tone unsettlingly cheerful.
“Just checking in, sis. How’s Ted?”
“Same as always,” I replied, keeping my answers short.
“Great, great,” he said, as if we were casually catching up after a vacation.
Then, out of nowhere, he invited us to dinner.
Ted and I arrived at Henry’s house that Saturday evening, stepping into what looked like a scene from a magazine. The table was set with fine china, candles flickered, and Sarah moved about gracefully, playing the perfect hostess.
But her forced smile didn’t fool me.
As the main course was served, Henry launched into a tale about his “big business trip” abroad.
“Paris this time,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Meetings, dinners, the usual grind.”
I could tell Sarah was barely holding it together. Then, without warning, she slammed her fork down on her plate.
“Enough!” she shouted. “I know this trip has nothing to do with work. It’s just another excuse to run away from me!”
The room fell silent as she stood, her voice shaking.
“You think I don’t see it, Henry? Fine. We’re done.”
She stormed out, leaving her chair spinning. Henry let out an exaggerated sigh, almost as if he had expected it.
Later that night, he showed up on my porch, a folder in his hand.
“Well, Jen,” he said with a dry chuckle, “you win. My marriage is over, but yours is still standing. I even bet Sarah would stay. Guess I lost that too.”
He looked so defeated in that moment that I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
“Sarah kicked me out,” he added.’
Guilt gnawed at me. My own failing marriage was a secret I hadn’t admitted, and pity made me let him stay in the guesthouse.
As he walked away, I couldn’t shake one thought: Do I even want to win this game?
Henry settled into the guesthouse as if he owned it, making himself comfortable in no time. I should have been furious, but I couldn’t throw him out. He had nowhere else to go. And despite everything, he was my brother.
One morning, he waltzed in, balancing a cup of coffee in one hand and a piece of toast in the other.
“Nice place, sis! Could use a hot tub, though. You know, something to make the evenings more relaxing.”
“Henry, you’re not staying here forever,” I snapped, wiping my hands on a towel.
“Who said I was?” he grinned. “Just getting comfortable while I figure things out.”
Watching him act like nothing had happened while my life crumbled made my stomach twist. Ted and I barely spoke. His absence had become the norm.
One morning, after yet another night of him not coming home, I waited in the kitchen. He walked in, rumpled and exhausted.
“We need to talk,” I said, my voice cold.
He 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. “You deserve better.”
I blinked. “That’s it? No excuses? No attempt to fix things?”
He shook his head. “What’s left to fix, Jen? We both know this has been over for a while.”
The divorce was finalized quickly. I left Ted the house and everything in it—the furniture, the pictures, even the dishes. Walking away was easier than clinging to a life that had already fallen apart.
I moved to the farm, expecting a fresh start. But as I stepped onto the porch, my heart sank.
Henry stood there, champagne in hand, surrounded by laughing friends.
His smirk widened.
“You really thought I divorced Sarah? That we’d throw everything away for nothing?”
I realized, too late, that I had been played.
