She wandered the sanctuary like someone exploring a dream she didn’t trust to last. She touched the worn leather sofa, ran her hand along the oak mantle, opened cupboards as if expecting emptiness.
Instead she found signs of preparation everywhere.
A pantry stocked with non-perishables.
Clean linens folded in a closet.
A maintenance binder with names and numbers and instructions.
Richard had anticipated her arrival like he was planning a case.
Dorothy visited daily at first, bringing food, checking on Peggy’s heat settings, teaching her which town stores carried what.
Other townspeople appeared—subtle at first, like cautious birds approaching a new feeder.
Pastor James told her Richard paid for the church roof but refused a plaque.
Mrs. Patterson told her Richard anonymously funded her grandson’s college tuition.
The young librarian, Sarah (a different Sarah), told her Richard saved the library with new books when budget cuts threatened closure.
Peggy sat at Dorothy’s kitchen table one evening, sipping tea, listening, and realized something that made her throat ache.
Richard had lived two lives.
In Boston, he was a pillar, a performance.
In Milbrook, he was quiet generosity. A man who let himself be kind without witnesses.
“And he talked about you constantly,” Dorothy said softly. “Every time he came to town, he’d stop at the store. Ask if the house was ready for his Peggy. Show me photos. Tell stories. Said you were the only person who loved him for himself.”
Peggy stared into her tea, a strange mixture of anger and tenderness twisting inside her.
Why hadn’t he just… stood up? Why hadn’t he told his children to respect her? Why did love have to be hidden?
Because Richard was brave with strangers and cowardly with his own blood.
Peggy could see that now.
Two weeks after arriving, she got a call from Marcus Chen.
“Peggy,” Marcus said gently, “I wanted to warn you. Steven called me. He’s retained attorneys to challenge the will.”
Peggy looked around the sanctuary—at the oak trees, the stone walls, the proof of Richard’s planning.
“On what grounds?” she asked, surprising herself with how calm she sounded.
“He claims the Milbrook property is a marital asset,” Marcus said. “He wants a court to force you to sell and divide proceeds.”
Peggy smiled slowly. “Let him try.”
There was a pause. “You sound… prepared.”
“I am,” Peggy said.
Marcus exhaled, relief audible. “Richard would be proud.”