“I Thought My Husband Was Sick… Until One Inheritance Revealed the Truth Behind the Lies”

After leaving the will reading early, I went straight to see my husband at the hospital… but what I overheard from my mother-in-law stopped me in my tracks…

My jaw nearly hit the floor when I saw the man standing on my porch. He looked like he had been pulled out of some dusty law office—his suit wrinkled, tie crooked, and shoes scuffed. He cleared his throat and handed me a business card.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Walker,” he said with an air of importance. “I’m here on behalf of McGrady and Sons Law Offices. Your great-aunt Anna has passed, and you’ve been named in her will.”

I blinked at him, stunned. “Excuse me, what? My Aunt Anna? You must have the wrong person. She didn’t have two pennies to rub together.”

The man gave a dry smile. “You’d be surprised. Elderly folks often live quietly, hiding more than they show. The reading will be Friday, three p.m., sharp. Don’t be late.”

And just like that, he tipped an imaginary hat, turned, and left me frozen in the doorway.

Aunt Anna—wealthy? Impossible. That woman pinched every coin until it screamed. She wore the same faded housecoat for twenty years, complained about the cost of bread, and scolded me if I left a light on too long. Still, she was family. And though she had a sour tongue, I had visited her, helped her with groceries, even cleaned her kitchen when she barked at me to do it. My husband Mark, however, wanted nothing to do with her. He couldn’t stand her sharp remarks or her penny-pinching ways.

Mark was delicate, or so he claimed. His “condition” kept him from holding a job. He always spoke of being fragile, with a body too sensitive for stress or physical labor. And yet his “illnesses” never stopped him from playing video games or spending hours on his phone. I worked myself raw—two jobs, long shifts—while Mark reclined at home, popping expensive supplements and vitamins that his mother, Linda, insisted would “help his poor constitution.” Linda worked at Mercy Hospital and always managed to “pull strings” for him, getting him into doctors’ offices for endless tests.

That night on the bus to work, I called Mark. He answered with his usual groggy voice.

“What’s up, babe?” he asked.

“You won’t believe this,” I said quickly. “Some lawyer came by. Aunt Anna left me an inheritance.”

Mark whistled low. “Seriously? That cranky old bird? Wow. Maybe you’ll finally catch a break. You’ve been working way too hard.”

His words sounded sweet, but something in his tone felt off—like he was already calculating. “We’ll see,” I said. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, same as always,” he sighed heavily. “Weak. Helpless. Maybe it’s time I admit I’m destined to be an invalid forever.”

I swallowed the frustration rising in my chest. “Don’t talk like that. You’ll get better. I’ll visit you tomorrow.”

The next morning, I went to Mercy Hospital, room 242, with a smile plastered on my face. I pushed the door open and leaned in. “Hey, babe.”

Mark scowled, his lips curling in disgust. “You didn’t even put on makeup? Really? Every other wife here looks like a runway model, and you walk in like this?”

His words slapped me harder than a hand ever could. “Mark, I’m exhausted. I just came straight from work.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted, rolling his eyes. “When’s that inheritance money coming through? Hopefully soon, so you can finally make yourself look decent.”

Tears blurred my vision. Without a word, I turned and fled the room, stumbling down the hallway until I collapsed on a bench. I held my face in my hands, shaking.

As I sat there, two patients walked by, laughing.

“Stayed here the weekend,” one bragged. “Told my wife it was tests. Truth is, I’ve got poker and whiskey lined up.”

His buddy chuckled. “Classic. What they don’t know won’t hurt ’em.”

I clenched my fists. No, not Mark. He couldn’t be lying like that. He was sick. He had to be.

Friday arrived. I went to the lawyer’s office early, nerves coiled tight in my stomach. The waiting room was plush, with soft chairs and hot coffee. My phone buzzed relentlessly—Mark.

“Any news yet?” he asked eagerly.

“Not until after the reading,” I reminded him. “You’ll know as soon as I do.”

Finally, my name was called. I stepped into Bernard McGrady’s office, the lawyer rising to greet me.

“Miss Walker,” he said warmly. “Your great-aunt Anna was more than she seemed. She left you everything.”

He slid a folder across the desk. My hands trembled as I opened it. My heart nearly stopped.

“This must be a mistake,” I whispered. “There are too many zeros…”

“No mistake,” McGrady said. “Six point two million dollars.”

The room tilted. My head spun. Aunt Anna—the miserly woman who wore patched shoes—had been a millionaire.

I grabbed my phone, trembling fingers flying. In my excitement, I shot off a text to Mark.

Inheritance is $6,200! Can you believe it?!

I hadn’t even noticed I’d left off three zeros.

I excused myself quickly, clutching the folder like a lifeline. I needed to tell Mark in person.

At the hospital, I bounded up the stairs, excitement bubbling. But as I neared his room, I heard voices. I froze.

“…she actually bought it,” Mark sneered. His voice was dripping with contempt. “Can you believe she thinks I’m really sick? Like I’d waste time in this dump otherwise.”

Linda’s sharp laugh echoed. “She’s naive. You’ve got her eating out of your hand. Honestly, I still can’t believe you married so far beneath you.”

“Tell me about it,” Mark muttered. “But here’s the best part—Aunt Anna left her money. As soon as she transfers it into my account, I’m done with her. Let her go play house with some other fool.”

My world shattered. Every word sliced me apart. My chest heaved, my vision blurred. Quietly, I backed away, my heart breaking with each step.

Later that night, I stood by the river, the city lights reflecting on the dark water. Aunt Anna’s words came back to me: That boy will bleed you dry. Mark my words.

She had been right. And now, she had given me the gift I needed to escape.

Three days later, Mark limped into our apartment, smug. “Honey, I’m home!” he sang mockingly. “Where’s my inheritance check?”

He stopped short. The walls were bare. The shelves empty. A single envelope lay on the counter.

He tore it open. My handwriting stared back at him.

Dear Mark,
By the time you read this, I’ll be gone. And in case you haven’t realized, I know everything. I know you’ve been faking. I know you and your mother laughed at me behind my back. And I know you planned to steal my inheritance and walk away.

But here’s the thing—it wasn’t $6,200. It was $6.2 million. And it’s all mine. I’ve filed for divorce. You have thirty days to remove your things from my apartment. After that, you’re on your own.

Good luck,
Emily

The letter slipped from his fingers. A strangled cry tore from his throat.

Meanwhile, I lay stretched out on a beach chair hundreds of miles away, the sun warming my skin, a cocktail in hand. My phone buzzed with new messages I ignored.

I raised my glass toward the horizon. “Thank you, Aunt Anna,” I whispered.

For the first time in years, the future was mine.