After Eleanor died, they challenged our marriage, accused me of exploitation, and reported me to the nursing board. I was devastated. To prove I had never wanted her fortune, I formally waived my right to inherit anything. Still, her children continued their accusations, determined to destroy my reputation.
Then Eleanor’s attorney called. She had left me something that wasn’t part of her estate. In his office, he handed me a letter, six beloved books, and a video recorded before our wedding. Eleanor explained that she had deliberately excluded me from her will to prevent anyone from claiming I had married her for money. Her doctors had confirmed she was mentally competent, and she had documented everything.
In the recording, she looked into the camera and told her children to leave me alone. “He has never brought me anything except books,” she said. “He is the kindest person I have ever known.” Her attorney also gave me Dickens, her seventy-four-year-old tortoise, whom she had entrusted to a longtime neighbor.
