Andrew looked at him steadily. “I will begin by naming the primary beneficiary.”
Then he said my name.
“Patricia Reynolds, mother of the deceased.”
My knees nearly gave out. Even in death, my daughter had reached for me.
Daniel shot to his feet. “That’s impossible. I’m her husband!”
Andrew calmly opened the envelope and read.
Emily had left under my administration the house, her bank accounts, her savings, her car—everything she had built with her own income. She had also created a separate fund months earlier. It wasn’t vast, but it was enough. Enough to start over. Enough to protect.
“This is ridiculous!” Daniel shouted. “Everything belongs to me!”
Andrew raised his hand for quiet.
“Mrs. Emily Harper filed formal complaints of domestic abuse. She left recorded messages, medical documentation, and signed this will before a notary six months ago.”
The church seemed to stop breathing.
Gasps echoed in the back. Someone began to cry.
“Additionally,” Andrew continued, “the life insurance and any related compensation will be administered by Mrs. Reynolds. Should she become unable to do so, the funds will be donated to an organization supporting survivors of domestic violence.”