When the lawyer called to tell me my ex-husband Todd had left me his entire estate, I laughed. Not out of joy—more like the kind of laugh you let out when the universe decides to play a sick joke on you.
Todd, the same man who once swore he couldn’t afford child support, had willed me everything—his house, his stocks, his investments. Even Pearl, his beloved vintage car that no one was ever allowed to touch.
And his widow and newborn baby? He left them with nothing.
“Miss Rachel?” the solicitor’s voice broke through my daze. “Are you still there?”
“This has to be a mistake,” I whispered, gripping the phone. “Todd wouldn’t—”
“I assure you, ma’am, there’s no mistake. Your ex-husband was very explicit in his wishes.”
And just like that, my world flipped upside down.
For fifteen years, Todd and I built a life together—three kids, a cozy home, late-night slow dances in our kitchen. Then one day, he blindsided me with the truth:
“I just need space, Rachel,” he had said, unable to meet my eyes. Translation? He was having an affair with Angela, his 25-year-old secretary.
I divorced him within a week. He married her a year later. And that was the end of it. Or so I thought.
Until the phone call.
Until I realized Todd had done this.
And I wasn’t prepared for what came next.
His widow showed up on my doorstep, and she was out for blood.
“You manipulative witch!” Angela hissed, her voice trembling with rage. “You think you can just take everything? That belongs to my baby!”
Her baby—a tiny, sleeping thing in the stroller beside her—brought a lump to my throat.
“This wasn’t my decision,” I said, keeping my voice level. “Todd—”
“Don’t say his name!” she snapped. “He wouldn’t have done this unless you tricked him! Give me what’s mine, or I’ll take you to court!”
I should’ve slammed the door in her face. But deep down, guilt clawed at me. How could Todd leave his own child with nothing?
I had no answers.
But Todd did.
The lawyer had a letter. And it changed everything.
Three days before Todd died, he rewrote his will and left a final letter for me.
“Rachel,
If you’re reading this, I’m gone. I know this is a shock, but I need you to understand why I did this.
Angela and I… we had our problems. If the baby she’s carrying is even mine, I doubt it’ll change anything. I don’t trust her. I don’t want my life’s work going to someone who never earned it.
You, on the other hand, gave me 15 years. You raised our kids. You supported me when I didn’t deserve it. I know I can’t fix the past, but I hope this will help your future.
Angela can’t con her way into this one. Everything is legally sound.
I’m sorry for everything.
—Todd”
I read it twice. Then a third time.
He knew.
Angela wasn’t going down without a fight.
She sued, claiming the will was invalid.
In court, she played the perfect grieving widow, tears glistening as she clutched her baby.
“Your Honor,” her lawyer declared, “my client’s newborn is being cheated out of his rightful inheritance by a bitter ex-wife.”
But something gnawed at me.
The baby.
Those big, round eyes. The soft red curls.
Red hair?
Todd had jet-black hair. So did all three of our kids. So did Angela.
And that’s when I knew.
I requested a DNA test.
Angela exploded. “This is harassment!” she shrieked. “You’re trying to humiliate me!”
The judge ordered the test anyway.
Two weeks later, the results came in.
The baby wasn’t Todd’s.
Angela turned ghostly pale. For the first time, she had nothing to say.
Todd had known. Maybe that’s why he did what he did.
In the end, I kept everything.
I sold Pearl, Todd’s prized car, and put the money into college funds for the kids.
Angela disappeared. Last I heard, she was onto her next “project.”
As for Todd? He wasn’t a perfect man. He made mistakes. Big ones. But in the end, he tried to do the right thing.
And karma?
Well.
It did the rest.
