Marina’s heart tightened. Hearing her mother-in-law’s name from a lawyer’s mouth could not mean anything good. Andrew went pale instantly. The calm expression he usually wore dropped off his face like a paper mask.
— What happened to my mother? — he asked in a strained voice.
— It would be better if we spoke inside, — the lawyer said. — This is a private matter.
Andrew, stiff and silent, let him in. Marina followed with cold hands. In the living room she hurried to bring water, though her hands shook so badly the glasses rattled on the tray.
When she came back, the lawyer had already begun.
— Mr. Sullivan, Mrs. Sullivan, — he said in a formal tone, — I’m here as the legal representative appointed by Eleanor Sullivan, your mother. May she rest in peace.
Marina nearly dropped the tray.
— May she rest in peace, — she whispered, as if the words themselves could not possibly be real.
She looked at Andrew for an explanation, but he sat motionless, staring at the table. The lawyer took a breath.
— I’m very sorry. Eleanor Sullivan passed away 32 days ago at the county hospital from acute kidney failure. Under her written instructions, I was to contact you, Mr. Sullivan, as the sole heir, exactly 30 days after her death to begin handling the estate.
His voice was neutral, almost like he was reading a weather report. Marina heard a ringing in her ears. Thirty-two days. More than a month.
Her mother-in-law had died, and she had known nothing. She had not been at the funeral, not at the meal afterward, had not even said a prayer for her on the day she died. That absence pressed on her like guilt.
Andrew seemed to collapse. He covered his face with both hands and began to sob. His shoulders shook. The grief looked dramatic, almost convincing. Marina watched him with a cold stare. She had already seen too much of his lying.
Attorney Peterson, clearly uncomfortable, opened his briefcase and took out a thick brown envelope and a ring of old-fashioned keys.
— Mr. Sullivan, — he said, sliding the envelope toward him, — under the will currently on file, all property in your mother’s name, including the house and land in Bright Hollow, passes to you by law. These are the ownership documents, already transferred into your name. And these, — he said, indicating the keys, — are the keys to the house.
Marina looked at the keys as if they were cursed pieces of metal. Keys to every secret. When the lawyer left, and the heavy silence settled over the house, Marina finally spoke. Her voice was level and icy:
— A month, Andrew.
He flinched.
— Your mother died a month ago, and you never told me.
It wasn’t a question. It was a clean accusation. Andrew looked up. In his eyes, fake grief now mixed with panic.
— Marina, I can explain. I was devastated. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want you to suffer.
— You lied to me, — she said flatly. — You went out there three months ago with mud all over your shoes. You weren’t checking on a renovation, were you? You were going because your mother was sick.
He hesitated.
— Yes, Mom was sick. I took her to the hospital. I didn’t want to worry you.
— Then why didn’t you tell me she died? — Marina demanded. Her voice shook with anger and hurt. — I’m your wife. I was her daughter-in-law. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.
— That’s exactly why! — Andrew exploded, jumping to his feet. — I didn’t want you to see her like that. The house was a mess. The renovation wasn’t done. I was ashamed. I didn’t want that to be how you remembered my mother.
The renovation again. Even with death sitting in the room, Andrew hid behind the same excuse. He grabbed the envelope and the keys and locked himself in his study. Marina heard the click of a desk drawer. He had hidden the keys there—and with them, all his secrets…
