I Married a 71-Year-Old Widow for Her Money… But After Her Funeral, Her Last Gift Made Me Collapse

I almost told her to leave me alone.

Instead, I looked up and saw concern on her face.

Real concern.

Not pity exactly.

Something worse.

Attention.

I hadn’t been looked at that way in years.

So I lied.

“I’m fine.”

She didn’t believe me.

She asked if I had eaten.

I said yes.

She looked at the vending-machine dinner beside me.

“That is not eating.”

That was the first time Evelyn bought me food.

A chicken salad sandwich.

A bottle of water.

And a slice of lemon cake she claimed she had accidentally bought too much of.

I ate in my truck with the heater barely working while she sat beside me in the passenger seat.

She asked small questions as if I were not a disaster in muddy boots.

My name.