«Tell my husband and mother-in-law that I died…

She ran a finger along the spines, wrinkling her nose. «Such pretentious taste. All highbrow nonsense, not a single decent novel.»

Sophie emerged in a dark grey dress, looking like an office worker. «Better?» she asked timidly.
«Much,» Margaret approved. «Swap the earrings for something simpler and pin your hair up.»

James watched Sophie obey and thought everything was falling into place—a compliant girlfriend who’d become the perfect wife, a prime flat, money in the bank. Most importantly, no Emma with her endless demands and ambitions.
«Time to go,» Margaret said, checking her watch. «Can’t be late for the notary.»

They left together, James locking the door. He noticed Mr. Simmons eyeing them suspiciously but dismissed it. The old man was always meddling. What could he know? Nothing. Just a nosy pensioner.

In the car, Margaret resumed her renovation plans. «Light walls in the living room—beige or cream. Dark, stately furniture. Patterned wallpaper in the bedroom, a big bed with a canopy.»
«Mum, a canopy?» James grimaced. «This isn’t a manor.»
«Why not?» she countered. «We can afford luxury. Sophie, you like the canopy idea, don’t you?»
«Yes, very much,» Sophie said hesitantly, glancing at James.

He stayed silent. Arguing with his mother was pointless when she was in design mode. Let her furnish her room as she pleased. He and Sophie would decide the bedroom.

The notary’s office was cool and professional. The notary, Michael, a chubby man with a receding hairline, was an old uni mate of James’s, willing to expedite things without questions.
«All set, James,» Michael said, handing over a folder. «Sign here and here, and pay the fee, of course.»

James took the pen and paused. Emma’s face flashed before him—alive, smiling, from their early days. He shook it off and signed firmly.
«Congratulations,» Michael said, collecting the papers. «You’re the primary heir. In six months, you can claim full ownership.»
«Thanks, Mike,» James shook his hand. «I owe you.»
«Anytime for a friend,» Michael smiled.

Outside, Margaret suggested celebrating at a restaurant. «We should mark the occasion,» she said. «Everything’s on track.»
«Mum, really?» James hissed, glancing at Sophie. «My wife just died.»
«I meant a quiet family lunch,» Margaret backtracked. «To support each other.»

Sophie stared out the window, pretending not to hear. James realized her silence was starting to grate. Emma was never silent—she argued, challenged, engaged. It infuriated him, but at least she was interesting.
«Let’s just go home,» he said. «I’m knackered.»

At the flat, a furniture catalogue arrived, ordered by Margaret. «Perfect!» she exclaimed, grabbing it. «Let’s pick out what we’ll order.»

While Sophie made tea, James slumped in an armchair. Oddly, he recalled Emma sitting there three weeks ago, drinking poisoned tea, unaware it was her end.
«Look, James!» Margaret plopped beside him with the catalogue. «This wall unit would be perfect for the living room. Classy, expensive.»

He eyed the photo of bulky dark furniture, better suited for a country estate. «Too heavy,» he said. «Something lighter.»
«It’s classic,» Margaret insisted. «Timeless.»
«I agree with James,» Sophie said unexpectedly, setting down the tea. «It’s too imposing. Maybe something modern?»

Margaret’s lips tightened. «Modern means cheap and flimsy. Quality lasts.»
«Let’s not argue,» James said wearily. «We’ve got time.»

He sipped his tea and froze. A wild thought struck: what if they poisoned him now? What if his mother decided he wasn’t grateful enough? Or Sophie learned the truth and wanted revenge?
«Something wrong?» Margaret asked, noticing his expression.
«No, just tired,» James set the cup down. «It’s been a lot.»..