After My Husband Made His Brother’s Widow the Beneficiary

The office was dark except for the lamp on my desk. Outside, the Seattle rain hit the glass in steady, cold taps. It was almost nine-thirty.

My coworker Diana Cho had packed her bag at five-thirty sharp. She had waved at me with a quick smile and said, “Don’t kill yourself for this place, Andie.”

I hadn’t listened. I wanted the year-end campaign to be perfect. When the email finally popped up on my screen, my breath caught. Ten thousand dollars. My full bonus.

I didn’t buy shoes or book a spa day. Instead, I thought of my father-in-law, Arthur Edwards. For three weeks, I hunted through specialty liquor shops until I found it: a rare, twenty-five-year single malt Scotch. It cost six hundred dollars.

I wrapped it in thick green paper and tied it with a velvet ribbon. For ten years, the Edwards family had made me feel like an outsider who just happened to share Damian’s last name. I thought this gift might finally show them I belonged.

On Christmas Eve, the Edwards house was bright and hot.

The tree in the corner was loaded with silver ornaments. Damian’s mother, Eleanor, passed around sugar cookies and laughed loudly with her friends. Damian stood by the mantle, a drink in his hand, looking handsome and relaxed.

Then came the gifts.

Arthur sat in his leather recliner, tearing open boxes. When he opened the one from Damian, he pulled out a cheap, generic bottle of blended whiskey from the grocery store down the street.

“Thanks, son,” Arthur said with a short nod, setting it on the floor by his feet.

I frowned. Where was my box?

I turned my head and looked across the room. Fiona Stone was sitting on the loveseat. She was Damian’s widowed sister-in-law. Her husband—Damian’s older brother—had passed away five years ago, and she had worn the face of delicate grief ever since.

Resting on Fiona’s lap was my green-wrapped box. The velvet ribbon was undone. She held the heavy, twenty-five-year Scotch against her chest like a baby. She looked up at Damian, her eyes soft and shiny.

“Damian, you shouldn’t have,” she whispered. “It’s far too much.”

Damian smiled down at her. “You deserve nice things, Fiona.”

My blood ran cold. The noise in the living room seemed to fade into a dull hum. I stood up and walked over to Damian.

“Damian,” I said. My voice was quiet, but it cut right through the chatter.

He glanced at me, annoyed by the interruption. “What is it, Andie?”

“That bottle cost six hundred dollars,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “I bought it with my bonus for your father. If you gave it to Fiona, I want my money back.”

The room went completely silent.

Eleanor’s smile vanished, her lips pressing into a thin line. Fiona’s eyes went wide. She pulled her hands back from the bottle as if it had burned her, her lower lip trembling.

“Oh,” Fiona murmured, shrinking into the cushions. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry, Andie. Please, take it back…”

“Stop it, Fiona. Keep it,” Damian snapped. He grabbed my elbow and pulled me toward the hallway. His grip was tight.

“Are you out of your mind?” he hissed, his face red with anger. “In front of everyone? On Christmas Eve?”

“You stole my gift,” I said.

“I didn’t steal anything! Dad doesn't care about fancy Scotch. Fiona has had a terrible year. She’s alone, Andie. She’s a widow. A good person would understand that.” He glared at me, his eyes full of disgust. “You are so petty. So small-minded.”

I looked at him, and for the first time, I felt nothing. No urge to explain myself. No urge to fix it.

The drive home was silent. Rain pounded the roof of the car. Usually, I would break the quiet. I would say I was sorry for making a scene. I would smooth things over so we could sleep in peace.

This time, I looked out the passenger window and didn't say a single word.

Two days after Christmas, Damian walked into the kitchen. He set a stack of folded bills on the island. Next to it was a small silver jewelry box.

“There’s your six hundred dollars,” he said, looking at the wall instead of me. “I borrowed it from Greg. Happy now?”

I didn't touch the money. “And the box?”

His expression softened, slipping back into his usual charm. “A peace offering. To show I listened.”

He opened the box. Inside was a delicate silver chain with a teardrop pendant. It was pretty, simple, and elegant. It didn't look like something Damian would pick. He usually bought gaudy, oversized things from airport gift shops.

“Where did you get it?” I asked.

“A boutique downtown,” he said quickly, waving his hand. “Let me put it on you.”

He fastened the clasp around my neck. The metal felt cold against my skin. I wanted to believe he felt bad. I wanted to believe he was trying.

An hour later, Damian went into the bathroom to shower.

The door was cracked open. Steam rolled out into the bedroom, smelling of his cedar body wash. I walked in to grab my hairbrush and saw his phone resting on the marble counter next to the sink.

The screen lit up with a text preview.

*Fiona:* **Just returning that necklace — it's pretty but not really my style. Thanks though ❤️**

My heart gave a hard, hollow thud.

I leaned closer and tapped the screen. The thread opened.

Beneath her message was Damian’s reply, sent two days before Christmas:

**No worries. I'll figure something out for it.**

I stood under the bright bathroom lights, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

The silver teardrop hung against my throat. It was Fiona’s reject. A leftover he couldn't return.

I reached behind my neck, unhooked the clasp, and set the cold silver down on the wet counter.

When the water stopped and Damian pulled back the shower curtain, I was still standing there, watching him.