For two years after my husband died, I sent money every month to a woman I had never heard of. I told myself she was just his business partner. One day, she stood on my doorstep with a little boy who had my husband’s dimple, and I realized I had been grieving a man I didn’t fully know.My name is Marlene. I’m 52, and I’ve been a widow for two years.When my husband, Thomas, died, I thought the hardest part would be learning how to sleep alone. I was wrong.A week after the funeral, I was going through his desk, organizing paperwork because I needed to understand what was left. What I was standing on.His reading glasses were still on the blotter. His coffee mug still had a ring on the wood where he’d set it down that last morning.I found a folder labeled “Partnership Agreement.”Inside were contracts. Wire transfers. A monthly payment schedule to a woman named Grace, who was listed as his business partner.

I’d never heard that name in 27 years of marriage.Thomas had always handled our investments. I trusted him with the numbers the same way he trusted me with everything else. But this felt strange.At the bottom of one document, in Thomas’s handwriting, was a note:”Payments must continue. No matter what.”No matter what. What did that mean?I stared at those words for a long time, trying to make sense of them.Was this a business deal? A debt? Something else entirely?I took the folder to our attorney the next day.”Is this real? Am I legally obligated to continue these payments?”He reviewed everything carefully, his face giving nothing away.”It’s legally binding. A formal partnership agreement. You’ll need to honor it as executor of his estate.”I don’t know. But the paperwork is legitimate. Thomas signed it five years ago.”Five years ago. While we were married. While we were supposed to be building our retirement together.