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Two Years Later
Eleanor passed away on a quiet autumn morning, the porch covered in golden leaves. I held her hand until the end. Her last words to me were soft but unforgettable:
“Ethan… you are the forgiveness I never dared to ask for.”
“Businesswoman Eleanor Hayes Leaves Entire Fortune to Her Young Husband.”
People gossiped. Some called me a gold digger; others called her foolish. No one knew the truth — and that’s how she wanted it.
I sold her restaurants and turned the proceeds into a foundation that helps women escape abuse — a dream she once whispered to me on one of her better days.
Every year, on the anniversary of her death, I return to the Portland villa. I sit at the piano she used to play and listen to her favorite piece, Moonlight Sonata.
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