My love for my husband Elias was larger than life. When I met him, I was 39 and he was 52. He was the most charming and most thoughtful man ever to enter my life.

A year into dating, we tied the knot and life felt perfect. However, a couple of years later, he was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer.

My days revolved around caring for him. For two years, I fed him, bathed him, and held him through the pain. His children, Maya and Jordan rarely visited. Even when they did, their stays were short. “We can’t handle seeing dad like this,” they’d say. And I was fine with it, because I was the one who could, the one that wanted to ease his days and remind him of how much he was loved.

Sadly, my husband passed away, and a day after his funeral, his children came to the house I shared with their father and told me I had until the end of the week to leave the place.

“Dad left the house to us and we are selling it,” they said, as coldly as if I meant nothing to them.

Days later, I found myself carrying two suitcases as heavy as the betrayal by Elias’ children.

With no place to stay, I stood in front of the house I once called home and wondered what my life would be like from that day on.

However, my thoughts were interrupted by a text message. “Check the storage unit on Fremont. Locker 112. Elias wanted you to have it.”

The message was sent from an unknown number. “Is this some sort of a prank?” I wondered, but still decided to check that storage unit.

The way to the unit seemed like an eternity. I had no idea what to expect.

When I arrived, the manager handed me a key after checking my ID. “Locker 112 is yours now,” he said with a smile on his face.

As I inserted the key, my hands started trembling. The door slowly opened, showing a cramped room stacked with boxes and a lone wooden chest.

There were also letters addressed to me.

It turned out my husband was aware of his children’s greed and wanted to secure my future. Among the letters, in which he wrote of his love for me, there was a collection of jewelry, most likely belonging to his late wife. There were also deeds for three vacation homes at different parts of the country—all in my name.

Inside the wooden chest there was a purple pouch. Nestled inside of it was a diamond ring, the biggest I have ever seen.

Months passed by and I started to thrive. I moved into one of the vacation homes located in the mountains of Colorado where I found my peace.

Please SHARE this article with your family and friends on Facebook.

Bored Daddy

Love and Peace