I Became a Private Driver for a Wealthy Widow

Sometimes she invited me inside for coffee after our errands.

Soon she told me stories about Arthur, about loneliness, and about her four adult children.

The way she spoke about them always felt different.

One afternoon she sighed heavily.

“Bradley wants another meeting with the estate lawyer.”

“That sounds important.”

“It sounds like vultures circling,” she muttered.

Then she quickly added:

“But you didn’t hear me say that.”

I pretended I hadn’t.