Cared for my husband through cancer, his children kicked me out after he passed away

There are no words to describe how much I loved my husband Elias.

Kind, considerate, and a man who made you feel seen, he was 52 when we first met, and I was 39.

We were married within a year after falling deeply and quickly.

Life seemed ideal.

But just a few years later, everything changed.

Elias’ pancreatic cancer was found to be in stage 4.

I took on the role of full-time carer for him for two years.

I gave him a bath, fed him, sat at his side through all of the suffering, and held his hand when it became really bad.

Jordan and Maya, his kids, hardly ever came to see.

They only did so for a brief period of time.

They would say, “Seeing Dad like this is too difficult.”

Perhaps it was.

But since I loved him, I stayed.

Because I couldn’t fathom not supporting him.

Then Elias vanished one day.

Jordan and Maya arrived at our house—the house Elias and I had shared—the very next morning.

No words of consolation, no hugs.

A chilly pronouncement and icy eyes: “Dad left the house to us.”

We’re going to sell it.

You must vacate before the end of the week.

I was taken aback.

Grief has no place here.

No acknowledgement of what I had gone through with their father.

Simply betrayed.

I had two hefty suitcases, each containing more than just clothing, and I was standing at the edge of the driveway four days later.

They bore memories, hurt, and the burden of being shunned by those who ought to have cared for them.

I had nowhere to go.

No strategy.

A broken heart, that’s all.

My phone then buzzed.

An unidentified text message said, “Check the Fremont storage unit.”

Locker 112.

Elias wanted it for you.

Uncertain if it was a nasty joke, I gazed at the message.

However, I felt compelled to act.

The manager gave me a key and checked my identification when I got to the building.

His smirk was knowing as he replied, “Locker 112 is yours now.”

I unlocked the door with shaky hands.

There was a little chamber with wooden chest, sealed boxes, and a bunch of letters that were addressed to me.

This was a plan from Elias.

He had anticipated the outcome.

He was aware of how his kids would behave towards me.

And he made sure I would be taken care of in his quiet, considerate manner.

His love, regrets, and dreams for me were all expressed in the letters.

A collection of jewellery, probably inherited from his late wife, was found inside one of the boxes.

And the biggest diamond ring I had ever seen was within the chest, shielded by a gentle purple bag.

Documents were also present.

Deeds to three vacation houses located throughout the nation.

All in my name.

I cried.

Elias had loved me more than that.

Even in death, he had kept me safe.

I moved into one of those houses, a tranquil haven in the Colorado highlands, a few months later.

In the midst of the serene beauty of nature and the remembrance of a guy who never ceased loving me,

I gradually rebuilt my life.

Even though Elias’s kids forced me to leave the house where we lived together, they were unable to change the reality.

Real love leaves behind more than just material belongings.

Peace, safety, and legacy are left behind.

At last, I had all three.