Not too close.
Not yet.
After the funeral, I filed for divorce.
Zion did not fight it.
Three months later, my cousin called.
“I have bad news.”
“What now?”
“Zion and Nadia are engaged.”
I closed my eyes.
“Of course they are.”
She hesitated.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“People are talking.”
I almost laughed.
“People always talk.”
“No, Marla. About you.”
That got my attention.
Apparently, Zion and Nadia had created a version of events that made their affair sound almost romantic.
They had “fallen unexpectedly in love.”
They had “made mistakes.”
They had “never wanted to hurt anyone.”
And then came the lie that made my stomach turn.
They said that after discovering their relationship, I had poisoned Valerie against her own son.
That I had manipulated a dying woman.
That I had convinced her to change her will.
I sat completely still.
“I didn’t even know she changed her will.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Did she leave me something?”
“I don’t know.”
The rumors spread quickly.
Relatives who had hugged me at Valerie’s funeral suddenly became distant.
One family member actually called and asked whether I had pressured Valerie over money.
That hurt almost as much as the affair.
Because they had taken the months I spent bathing her, feeding her, driving her, and holding her hand—
and turned them into evidence against me.
Three days later, someone pounded on my front door.
When I opened it, Zion pushed past me.
His face was red.
“You knew.”
I stepped backward.
“What are you doing?”
“You knew my mother was going to leave you the house.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Don’t pretend.”
“The house?”
“Yes.”
I was genuinely confused.
“Valerie left me her house?”
Something flickered in his expression.
For a second, he seemed to realize I truly had not known.
Then his anger returned.
“This isn’t even about the house.”
I folded my arms.
“Then why are you screaming in my living room?”
“You and Mom were hiding something from me.”
“I wasn’t hiding anything.”
“Yes, you were.”
He stepped closer.
“She left something inside that house for you.”
The way he said it changed the entire conversation.
This was not anger anymore.
It was fear.
“What?”
“I know she left something.”
“How?”
