Marina had shared sixteen years of her life with Elias—years shaped by quiet mornings, familiar routines, and plans they believed would grow old together.
When Elias died without warning, the loss struck her with a force she was unprepared for. At the will reading, she sat motionless, fingers interlaced, certain that at least the apartment they had built their life in would remain hers.
Instead, the lawyer’s calm voice dismantled that hope piece by piece: Elias had left everything to the children from his first marriage.
With each sentence, the room felt more distant, more hollow. Outside, Nadine—Elias’s ex-wife—was waiting.
Her gaze was sharp, almost triumphant. “You were never meant to receive anything,” she said coldly. “A wife without children doesn’t inherit.”
She then demanded Marina vacate the apartment immediately.
Too stunned and emotionally drained to argue, Marina left with a single suitcase and a grief too heavy to fight back.
She spent the next two nights in a small guesthouse, lying awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything she thought love had promised her.
By the third morning, her phone rang. It was Nadine—but the voice on the other end was shaking.
Gone was the certainty, replaced by panic. “You have to come back,” Nadine said urgently. “Please.”
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