My Husband Divorced Me While I Was Unconscious After Giving Birth to Triplets — Then My Brother Uncovered His Fraud at the Town Assembly
The crisp morning air usually carried the scent of pine and fresh-baked bread through Oakhaven, but that week, it seemed to carry only whispers. Gabriel ensured it.
I lay in the small, drafty gatehouse cottage, the chill seeping into my bones despite the thin blanket. My body ached with a deep, hollow pain that had nothing to do with childbirth, and everything to do with loss.
A loud knock startled me. It was Gideon.
“Clara,” he said, his voice low, his face grim as he stepped inside. “He’s done it. Just as I feared.”
I watched him, my throat tight. I already knew what he meant. Gabriel’s cruel words, his swift actions, had echoed in my mind for days.
He pulled a folded parchment from his pocket, its edges sharp. “He posted this on the church doors this morning, for all Oakhaven to see.”
My eyes scanned the elegant script. It was a formal notice, declaring Gabriel Vanderberg the sole legal authority over the Hallowell timber mill and all associated estate accounts.
It cited a “power of attorney” document.
The document, Gabriel claimed, had been signed by me before my labor, granting him all rights. It even named a witness: Tobias Finch, the old notary public.
A cold dread coiled in my stomach. Tobias Finch.
“He’s been holding court with the town elders, Clara,” Gideon continued, shaking his head. “Telling them you signed it freely, that your ‘distress’ afterwards led to… well, you know.”
He didn’t need to elaborate. The whispers had found their way to the gatehouse too. Gabriel was painting me as a fragile, unhinged woman, responsible for my own tragedy.
“Tobias Finch,” I murmured, my voice raspy. “He’s… he’s been gone for months, hasn’t he?”
Gideon’s gaze sharpened, a flicker of something new in his eyes. He nodded slowly. “That’s what I remember, sister. But Gabriel stands tall in the town square, claiming Tobias Finch witnessed his document. And not a soul questions it.”
My stomach clenched. Tobias Finch had been a kindly man, diligent in his duties, but he was also prone to the seasonal coughs that plagued Oakhaven’s elderly. He had certainly been ill for some time.
Gideon folded the notice carefully, his jaw tight. “He’s moved you out here, Clara, so he can claim ‘sole occupancy’ of the main house. Wants to show the town you’ve ‘chosen’ the quiet life.”
I looked around the small, sparse room. Chosen? I had been carried here, still weak from labor, my every protest ignored.
“I will watch him,” Gideon said, his voice firm, a quiet promise in the cold air of the cottage. “Every step, every word. This cannot stand.”
I looked at the notice again, the name “Tobias Finch” jumping out at me. A chilling thought, a tiny seed of defiance, began to sprout in the barren landscape of my grief. Gabriel was so confident, so brazen. But he had made a mistake.
Tobias Finch could not have signed that document. Not unless the dead could rise.
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