Day 6 of the Word Bohemia challenge...
The birds sing a little repeated rhythm and the sun tickles her face through the leaves. Paradise.
There’s a beep from her phone. A text, or a tweet, or something silly. None of it matters anymore. She thinks about tossing it in the pool. She doesn’t though. Even with sudden wealth, she hasn’t lost her common sense.
The letter lies on the table beside her, under the cocktail tray. She’s on cocktail number three (sex on the beach, she was always a traditionalist) and beginning to feel sentimental. She slides the paper out from under the tray and reads it again, even though she knows it by heart.
Every typed word, blandly officious, spells it out.
So many years wasted looking after the old bag. Being complained at. Staying home Friday nights. Saturday nights too. Seeing beautiful friends snapping up handsome men, while the millstone around her neck told any suitors to stay away. All the parties missed, the whacks of the old woman’s cane. All the cold winter nights and rainy days. All worth it.
To be the sole heiress. And to never have to worry again.