Then I’m Not Family

Six weeks earlier, Eleanor Hayes had believed her greatest problem was loneliness.

Her husband, Thomas, had died eighteen months before after forty-one years of marriage. Since then, the modern suburban house they had built together had become painfully quiet.

Thomas’s coffee mug still sat at the back of the cupboard. His gardening gloves remained beside the garage door. Eleanor had not moved his reading chair from the window because doing so felt too much like admitting he would never return.

Daniel visited every Sunday, usually with Marissa. Their visits had become shorter over time, but Eleanor never complained. She prepared lunch, listened to Marissa talk about expensive renovations, and pretended not to notice Daniel checking his phone beneath the table.

One Tuesday morning, Eleanor’s phone rang while she was watering the herbs near the kitchen window.

“Mrs. Hayes, this is Rebecca Shaw,” the caller said. “I need to discuss an urgent financial matter.”

Rebecca had handled Thomas’s will, but Eleanor had not spoken to her since the estate was settled.

“Is something wrong?”

“I would rather explain in person. Have you recently signed any loan guarantees?”

Eleanor nearly laughed.

“Of course not.”

There was a pause.

“Have you given Daniel or Marissa permission to represent you financially?”

“No.”

Another pause, longer this time.

“Mrs. Hayes, please do not sign anything they bring you. And do not transfer money until we speak.”