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Dorothy Morgan glared at her stepson with angry green eyes as she listened to the lawyer’s cracked voice destroy the hope she had nursed
for the past five years.
Damn it! It just wasn’t fair! Bruce Morgan had been ages older than her twenty-four years, and his children were already into their teens when
she married him. He wasn’t a bad looking man, and he had been proficient, if not inventive in the bedroom. But Dorothy was convinced
that she could have done a lot better with a minimum of effort. The only reason she married Bruce Morgan was his clearly stated promise
that the three hundred acre farm would be hers when he died.
For five years, she had played mother to Ted and Linda, while dutifully offering her young body to Bruce’s nightly assaults. Now, Ted was
eighteen and Linda was sixteen, and Bruce was dead.
Dorothy did not pretend a grief she could not discover among her emotions. Even the youngsters received the news of the auto accident
with suppressed sighs of relief. Bruce had never been close to either of them, and his authoritarian attitude would be missed but little.
“So,” the lawyer concluded, folding the document and removing his glasses, “Mr. Morgan left the bulk of his estate to his sole male heir,
Ted Morgan. The others will receive sums up to ten thousand dollars.”
Ted’s dark eyes mocked her as Dorothy exclaimed, “He couldn’t do this to me! I’ll contest the will!”
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.