It’s completely over. 3 months later, I sold the real estate that Sydney and Edwin couldn’t afford to keep and moved to a charming cottage in Carmel, overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The cottage cost $1.2 million cash and still left me with more money than I could spend in several lifetimes. I received word through my attorney that Sydney had filed for bankruptcy and was attending courtmandated gambling addiction counseling. Edwin had moved back in with his mother and was working as a night manager at a hotel near the airport.
Bianca had filed for divorce and moved to Los Angeles with her sister. Sometimes, usually in the evening when the fog rolled in from the ocean, I would think about Floyd and wonder if he would approve of how everything had turned out. Then I would remember his letter, his careful planning, his determination to protect me even after death. I think he would have been very satisfied indeed. The cottage came with a beautiful garden that the previous owners had neglected.
I spent my days bringing it back to life, planting roses like the ones Floyd and I had grown together, creating herb gardens and flower beds that bloomed in carefully planned succession throughout the year. It was peaceful work, satisfying in a way that 22 years of managing other people’s expectations had never been. For the first time in my adult life, I was accountable to no one but myself. I joined the local gardening club, took watercolor classes at the community college, and even started volunteering at the animal shelter.
Simple pleasures, but they felt revolutionary after decades of living my life in service to others needs and wants. One afternoon while deadheading the roses in my front garden, a young woman stopped by the gate. She was perhaps 30 with kind eyes and a hesitant smile. Excuse me, she said. I’m Sarah Mitchell, James Mitchell’s daughter. He told me you might be interested in some volunteer opportunities. I set down my pruning shears and walked over to the gate. What kind of opportunities?
I work with women who are trying to escape abusive relationships, financial abuse, emotional manipulation, that sort of thing. Dad said you might understand what they’re going through. I thought about the scared, confused woman I’d been just months ago, convinced I was powerless and dependent on the goodwill of people who didn’t care about me. I might, I said. Sarah smiled. Would you like to hear about what we do? As we talked, I realized that Floyd’s final gift to me hadn’t just been financial security.
Hij had me iets veel waardevollers gegeven. De wetenschap dat ik sterker was dan ik ooit had gedacht, slimmer dan wie dan ook me had toegedicht, en in staat om mezelf en anderen die bescherming nodig hadden te beschermen. Twee maanden later richtte ik de Floyd Whitaker Foundation for Financial Justice op, die juridische ondersteuning en financiële voorlichting biedt aan slachtoffers van financieel misbruik binnen het gezin. Het was niet de nalatenschap die Sydney en Edwin hadden verwacht achter te laten, maar het was precies de nalatenschap die Floyd gewild zou hebben.
