Hey love, listen Ive got a wild tale for you about how I almost ended up penniless after marrying an English bloke.
So, there I am, holding a handwritten will where Im the only person named. My husband, Edward Whitford, kisses my hand, flashes the will and says, Darling, Ive taken care of my daughter, she wont have any complaints about you. I felt a warm glow hearing that, and I started to think the old chap was a proper gentleman. I didnt bother with prenuptial agreements or insurance I just trusted his decency. Turns out I shouldve been more careful.
I met Edward on a dating site. I was looking for a foreign husband, retired and living in Manchester, and I just wasnt keen on marrying someone my own age. The idea of looking after a frail old dad? No thanks. Abroad, older people seemed lively, traveling and all that. Edward was 76, I was 55, and I was the same age as his daughter, Evelyn.
Our messages went on for a year. We got to know each other, poked fun, and eventually I booked a flight to England, aiming straight for the town of Harrogate, determined to tie the knot with Edward. He greeted me at the station, a tall, tidy man holding a wilted bunch of roses. I could have bolted back home, but the show was just beginning. Those sad roses smelled faintly of neglect.
Edward got me into his sleek car and drove me to his spacious home. A modest twoperson lunch awaited. I asked for a vase for the sad roses, and he handed me a glass of water. The moment I stuck the stems in, the wilted petals fell off a sign, I thought, that something wasnt right.
We both realised romance wasnt on the cards. I needed financial support, he needed a companion to look after him. Two lonely souls, both past their prime, found a convenient arrangement. Edward promised to leave all his assets to me when he passed, but a promise is a promise only on paper.
We were married shortly after, and I became Mrs. Whitford. The ceremony was tiny just his daughter Evelyn and her husband with three kids, plus a family friend. I was his third wife. In his first marriage hed had twin daughters, Frances and Evelyn, even though hed always said he wanted no children, preferring a life of selfimprovement and travel. His first wife defied him and gave birth anyway, and he adored the girls, though he never forgave her for going against him. When the twins turned eighteen, Edward dramatically left the family. His first wife died two years later, and all his property a threestorey house, a country cottage in Kent, three cars, and his business went to the twins, with the business handed to Frances.
Edward then dated an older lady, Margaret, seven years his senior, who never wanted kids either. Everything seemed fine until Margaret fell ill. Edward tended to her tenderly massaging, feeding, even changing her nappies right up to her death.
Soon after, tragedy struck again. Frances was found dead on a roadside under mysterious circumstances; the killer was never caught. Edward slid into a deep depression. Evelyn never visited, not once. After a while, Edward decided he wanted to remarry. He turned to an online dating site, and thats how we crossed paths.
Life as Mrs. Whitford began. All the money was Edwards, and he turned out to be a tightfisted man giving the bare minimum for groceries, demanding receipts for every purchase, and grimacing whenever I asked for a bit of lipstick or a fancy pin. Still, every year we booked a cruise or a short break, his longstanding dream.
I treated him kindly, felt sorry for his age, learned to whip up his favourite dishes, kept an eye on his health, and stuck by him through thick and thin. Then, out of the blue, he suffered a stroke. The ambulance whisked him to A&E. I rang Evelyn straight away. She rushed over, not to see her father, but to see me.
Sarah, Ive got Dads will here, she said. He left everything both movable and immovable to his daughter. He left you a sum, whatever she decides is enough for a decent living. In other words, Edward had quietly changed his will in favour of Evelyn, keeping me out of the picture. Hed always felt guilty about his past decisions, especially Francess death, and perhaps thats why he tried to make it right at my expense.
Evelyn never came back, and the three grandchildren were strangers to Edward. I thought Id stay by his bedside, but he was still alive while his daughter was already making moves over his estate.
I spent six months nursing him in hospital, feeding him with a spoon, gently rubbing his hand, talking to him as his mind drifted away. He stopped recognising anyone, lost himself in his own world. I didnt argue about the will; Evelyn never visited, after all. Edward was eightytwo when he finally slipped away.
A few weeks later, Evelyn turned up at the front door of the house wed shared.
Listen, Sarah, she snapped, youll have to move out, quick as you can. Ill give you a small sum for a cheap flat, then youll be on council housing. Id go back to the States if I were you. Theres nothing for you here. I pictured myself shivering on the street, cold and hungry.
Dont tell me what to do, Evelyn, I replied, still reeling from my fatherinlaws death. Im not ready yet. Lets talk later.
Six months later, lawyers told me any lawsuit would be a lost cause, and the legal fees would be astronomical. Even though the law says Im entitled to half the estate, Edwards altered will wiped me out. I was still living in his house, which drove Evelyn mad.
Get out, Sarah. Youve stolen an old mans peace, and now you expect to keep the place? Hand over the inheritance, she snarled.
Then a thought popped into my head. I dug out the original will from a drawer and showed it to her.
Evelyn, look this is the first will where Edward left everything to me. I can prove in court that he was suffering from senility when he changed it. Maybe he was forced to sign under pressure. Lets see what you can do with that.
She fell silent, considering my words.
So I ended up moving into a modest flat in Harrogate, driving Edwards old car, scraping together enough cash from Evelyns allowance to get by.
These days Im married to Paul. We met in the park when he was walking his Labrador, and I was out for my daily jog. Ive taken up running to stay fit, and Pauls absolutely smitten with me. Turns out English men do love a spirited lady!
And that, my friend, is how I went from a hopeful foreignmarriage dream to a modest life with a new love, all because I learned to read the fine print. Cheers.
