“Who kept the books before he hired an accountant?”
“I did.”
“Who handled suppliers when he was away?”
“Usually me.”
“Who trained employees at the first three locations?”
I hesitated.
“Me.”
“And who supported the household while the company was losing money?”
I looked down.
“My teaching salary paid most of our expenses.”
Celia was quiet.
Then she said:
“Margaret, you've spent forty-eight years describing yourself as someone who helped a successful man. From what you're telling me, you were part of building the success.”
I stared at her.
Nobody had ever put it that way before.
Not even me.
Celia leaned forward.
“You're not simply a widow waiting to see what her husband left her. You have your own rights, your own history, and your own contribution to this estate.”
Tears filled my eyes.
For weeks, I'd felt as though other people were deciding what Thomas's life meant.
What his money meant.
