After Wife's Death, Widower Finds Out They've Been Divorced for More than 20 Years – Story of the Day

Wealthy investor Robert is shocked to discover a divorce agreement of which he has no knowledge when he sets out to wrap up the affairs of his recently deceased wife. He also makes another shocking discovery, both of which steer him on a far-reaching voyage towards forgiveness.

Robert sat on the couch in his up-market beach house, staring blankly at the divorce decree in his hands. He couldn't believe it. He had been married to Melissa for 30 years, and he had no memory of ever getting a divorce from her.

He returned to the box of Melissa's personal documents that he had been going through since her death. He had been expecting to find her will and maybe some surprises there, but he had never expected to find something as shocking as this.

Robert was stunned by the revelation. He sat back on the couch and stared out over the Pacific Ocean at the rising sun, wrestling with his memory for the slightest clue to unraveling this mystery.

Of course, there was the accident and head trauma he'd suffered many years ago to consider, but how could it be that something as huge as this could have been buried so deep in his past?

He flipped through the many pages of the divorce agreement and studied the names and signatures carefully. It was clear: that was his full name and signature and, alongside it, his deceased wife's, no doubt about it.

Then he read the document page by page. Not that he'd ever seen a divorce agreement before, but it all looked like a standard one, the legalese notwithstanding.

Halfway through skimming it, he returned to the first page to confirm something that suddenly occurred to him. There it was: it was he, Robert, who'd initiated the divorce. He examined the date: July twenty years ago. The exact time of the accident—that he knew for sure.

Robert thought this through. He had no memory of a period lasting for about six months before and after the accident. All he knew about it was what he'd been told—by Melissa mostly, come to think of it—and he'd believed what she'd said.

How different could things have been before this? He had asked himself when he'd recovered from the accident. Well, it was clear that something very different had happened, according to this document now in his hands.

The thing is, he'd been drinking heavily at that time, primarily out of boredom. Money kept rolling in; he didn't have to work hard for it, so he'd filled his days and nights with social outings with artists, actors, and filmmakers.

Life was easy and good. There was no shortage of sexual propositions, but somehow, he stayed faithful to Melissa, something he always prided himself on. Nevertheless, they fought about his drinking.

In those days, back in New York, he would come home very late—or sometimes in the early hours of the following day—drunk and belligerent.

Melissa would chastise him, but he'd argue that his "job" called for entertaining and socializing with his creative associates and beneficiaries.

Robert stood up and walked to the window. He looked out at the serene sea below, a perfectly opposite reflection of what was going on in his mind. He stood there trying to find a place for this piece of the puzzle of his past.

He looked back at the letterhead on the divorce document and noted the name of the law firm above a New York address and phone number.

He picked up the phone and dialed the number. "Abbott and Fitch, how may I direct your call?" came the receptionist's voice on the other end.

"Ah, I'm looking for the law firm Bradfield, Murray, and Leeds," Robert said.

"They haven't been in this building for years, sir. I suggest you Google their new number," the receptionist told him.

"Okay, thank you," Robert said and hung up.

Sitting back down, he read the rest of the divorce document. And there was another shocking surprise in store for him: there, in black and white, he read that Melissa was entitled to half the value of his assets in the divorce.

Robert was a very wealthy man. Even back then, around the time of the accident, at age forty, he was worth north of 100 million dollars, most of which he'd inherited from his father, an oil tycoon.

Robert had dabbled as a stockbroker, but for the most part, he paid others to manage and grow his wealth while he lived an easy and high life in New York City.

Not that he'd been irresponsible; he spent his money well, and he donated large sums to charitable organizations—he left that side of his dealings to his wife to manage, which she did well.

He also dabbled in the arts, funding Broadway theater productions and hob-knobbing with movie people. That was how he'd met Melissa; she was a rising star in an off-Broadway play he'd funded, and they became close after lengthy discussions around a film adaptation of the play.

The film never saw the light of day, but Robert and Melissa had fallen in love and married. She was younger than he, but that had never stood in their way; Robert had primarily good memories of their marriage, except when he was drinking, and they'd argue about it.

Which is why this agreement in his hands was all the more baffling. What possible reason could he have had for divorcing Melissa twenty years ago? If anything, she had more grounds for divorce than he did back then.

Robert returned to Melissa's box of documents and shuffled further through it. There were bank statements—large sums of money, he noticed—some old letters to her he'd get to sooner or later, and near the bottom, a manilla envelope.

He opened it and scanned the document it contained. It was a photocopy of a birth certificate, and it belonged to a child named Tallulah.

The birth date was thirty-three years ago—three years before Robert and Melissa were married. He looked again at the name. Tallulah's last name was the same as Melissa's maiden name.

Robert's heart leaped. He had always suspected that Melissa had hidden a secret from him, but he had never imagined it was this big. She had never told him about a child named Tallulah.

How is it possible that I could have forgotten something as momentous as this? he thought. And how is it possible that I cannot remember getting a divorce from Melissa? Could the two be connected? Is the birth certificate tied to the divorce?

Robert's mind raced with the possibilities. He had been in a coma for several weeks after the accident, and when he had finally woken up, he had no memory of a divorce or of the existence of a child named Tallulah bearing his wife's maiden name.

He didn't know what to do. He was still grieving Melissa's death, and now he had this bombshell to deal with.

Melissa had succumbed to breast cancer. At first, the chemotherapy worked well. She seemed to recover, but cancer has a way of regrouping and coming back stronger after bouts of chemotherapy. It felled her within months, spreading to almost every part of her body.

Robert dropped the divorce decree and the birth certificate back into the box. He closed it and put it on the dining room table. He didn't know what to do next, but he knew that he couldn't just ignore this turn of events.

He stood up and paced the room. He was trying to figure out how to tell his children, twins named Pete and Sandra, about this. He didn't want to hurt them, but he wanted to know if they perhaps knew anything about these secrets hidden in their mother's past.

The twins had grown distant from Robert, although they had talked more since Melissa had become ill. They were both in college in different states but flew in a few days before their mother passed away and were helping with the funeral arrangements.

That afternoon, Robert gathered Pete and Sandra in his living room. He sat them down on the couch and told them what he had found. They were shocked and confused. They couldn't believe that their mother had kept such a big secret from them all.

"Why didn't she tell us?" Sandra asked.

Robert shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "I guess she thought it would hurt us too much."

"But it does hurt," Pete said. "I feel like I don't even know my own mother anymore. How old would she have been if she'd had a baby before she met you?" he asked.

"Young. She would have been about seventeen," Robert replied.

"And why did you file for divorce from Mom?" Sandra asked.

"I have no memory of that," Robert said. "You kids were around two then, and I have no idea how your mom coped with all that. All I remember is waking up here in California. Your mother thought it would be best for me to recover here, in a sunnier, happier place. She wanted me to break away from that life in New York and the people there who were dragging me down."

"How did the accident happen?" Pete asked.

"I'm ashamed to say it was because of my drinking," Robert answered.

"A car accident?" Pete asked.

"No, something else. I fell. Look, I'd rather not talk about that now if that's okay," Robert said.

"Okay," Sandra said, "but what are we supposed to make of this news? Is the divorce valid? And who and where is this Tallulah?"

"That's what I need to find out," Robert said. "I promise I will get to the bottom of this. It's a lot to take in. But we'll try and figure it out together. I want to be open and honest with you and not let any secrets come between us."

Pete studied the divorce document. "There's the name of a law firm and the lawyer who dealt with it. Do you know him?" he asked.

Robert took the document from Pete and looked closely. "It doesn't ring a bell," he said. "I tried the number here, but the firm has moved. I remember I used that firm when we lived in New York, though."

"You're on LinkedIn, aren't you? Try and find the lawyer there," Pete suggested.

"Good idea," Robert said. "We need to focus on Mom's funeral right now, though, but I'll get on this in a few days and see what I can find out."

The family agreed that they would concentrate on the funeral and attendant emotions and then deal with the consequences of the mysterious documents.

****

In the quiet aftermath of the funeral, sitting with his grief, Robert summoned the courage to confront the situation. It didn't take long for him to trace the lawyer who had officiated the divorce; he was with another firm in New York.

Robert called the number he had found for the Lawyer, Franklin, and was surprised when the man answered immediately.

"Is this Franklin S.?" Robert asked.

"Yes, sir," came the reply, "How can I help you?"

"Franklin, my name is Robert. You don't know me, but—" Robert began but was immediately cut off.

"Robert!" Franklin exclaimed in shock. "Robert, is that really you?"

"Well, yeah, uh," Robert confirmed, flummoxed that Franklin seemed to know who he was. "So, you know me?"

"Of course. My god, Robert, where are you?" Franklin asked.

"I'm in California. I'm sorry I don't recall meeting you, though. I know the firm you worked for some twenty years ago handled some of my business affairs, but I dealt with several associates."

"No problem, Robert. Look, it was a chaotic time, what with your accident and everything. I'm glad to hear you're okay. When you disappeared like that, we were quite worried. It was a high profile case, lots of media attention."

"The problem is, I don't remember any of it, Franklin. I'm trying to put the pieces of a very confusing puzzle together here," Roger admitted.

"Okay, I hope I can help you then. How's Melissa? Do you still talk?" Franklin asked.

"Well, that's the reason I called, in fact. Melissa passed away about a week ago," Robert said.

"I'm so sorry to hear that, Robert," Franklin said.

"Thanks, Franklin. So I'm trying to wind up her affairs, and I found some documents that I'm quite concerned about."

"Yeah?" Franklin said.

"One of them is a divorce decree. Franklin, I don't remember getting a divorce from Melissa," Robert said.

There was complete silence on the other end of the line. "I handled the divorce, Robert. It was an open-and-shut case. You don't remember it?"

"I don't remember it," Robert confirmed. "As far as I know, Melissa and I were happily married for thirty years. Melissa moved us out here to the West Coast after my accident, and that was that. We raised our kids; we lived off our investments; I got into the movie business a little, here and there."

Franklin was silent again for some moments. "So, you never left her?"

"I never left her, Franklin," Roger confirmed. "Do you have records of the divorce and anything else this over there?"

"Yeah, we have everything on file," Franklin replied.

"How about Melissa's will?" Roger asked.

"I'm pretty sure we have it. One of my colleagues handled it—we thought it best if I didn't represent you both, given the conflict of interest. But, yeah, it's all here."

"Okay," Robert said. "There's another thing, too, in Melissa's documents—a birth certificate."

"Listen, Robert. How are you fixed on coming out to New York so we can figure this out? We can do it remotely, but that's not going to be ideal. There's something else you need to know about your case. It's serious. I'd rather not deal with it over the phone."

Robert thought for a long moment. "If you say so, Franklin. Yeah, I can set that up. I have my own jet. It's a five-hour flight."

"Do it," Franklin said. "I'll email you some details and have my PA make all the arrangements. Let me know when you'll be arriving."

***

Twenty-four hours later, Robert sat opposite Franklin in his plush corner office high above the New York City skyline. A bottle of bourbon stood on the desk between them, along with two partly-sipped glasses.

"I'm glad you could make it, Rob," Franklin began. "Let me start by saying how sorry I am about Melissa's passing. She was a remarkable, talented woman. I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thanks, Frank; I appreciate the sentiment. This has been a very difficult time for us, as you can imagine. I just hope you can shed some light on what really happened all those years ago."

Franklin nodded, "So, you remember nothing about the accident, the fall?" he asked.

"I don't remember anything at all," Robert confirmed.

"What were you told about it?" Franklin pressed.

"Well, I've been thinking it over, and all I know is what Melissa told me. We were out for the weekend at our place in the Hamptons and got into an argument again about my drinking. I'm not proud of that period of my life. I was drunk a lot of the time. We were out on the balcony. It was a heated argument. Somehow, I lost my balance and went over the balcony. I landed on the back of my head. Fractured skull. Massive hemorrhage. Six weeks in a coma."

Franklin nodded. "It's a miracle you survived," he said. "We honestly didn't think you'd make it. Three surgeries in the first two days. It's a miracle you survived and a miracle you recovered. Nobody expected you to live."

"Yeah," Robert said. "I've never been the same. Crushing migraines, and I've slowed down a lot. My thinking is very fuzzy at times. Full memory loss of the time surrounding the fall. In fact, most of my New York life is hazy. But I'm alive, as far as I can tell. Numb with grief, but alive."

"Did Melissa tell you anything else about that night of the fall?" Franklin asked.

"You mean later on when I recovered? No, we didn't speak about it much," Robert replied. "She moved us over there to California; I think it was a good decision. She found the best head trauma specialist in the country out there to help with my recovery. I was in good hands."

"So, you never saw any of the media coverage at the time?" Franklin asked.

"Melissa thought it best I stay away from that completely. She wanted a fresh start away from that life. I agreed. I think it was the best thing to do."

"Robert, this might be hard to hear. Were you aware of the life insurance policy in Melissa's name?"

"Wow, I'd forgotten about that. We bought it soon after we were married," Robert said. "She would have been the sole beneficiary at the time of the accident. We took out another one later when our kids were born. But, yeah, that original one, not sure what happened to that. Hang on, are you saying—" Robert broke off in shock.

"I'm not saying anything, Rob, please. Obviously, she never cashed it in because you survived, but I think it's important for you to know that—well—there was speculation in the media that Melissa might have had something to do with your fall."

Robert said nothing. He looked out the window. He took a sip of his bourbon and looked at Franklin.

"I know this must come as yet another shock, but best you hear it now as we navigate the intricacies of this. Bear with me," Franklin said. "We do have Melissa's will on file here. There's something else. She changed it at the time of your accident."

"She changed her will?" Robert whispered.

Franklin opened the folder of documents on the desk in front of him, leafed through the pile, and slid a sheaf of papers across to Roger. "Does the name of the beneficiary mean anything to you?" he asked.

Robert looked at the document for a long time. "Tallulah J—," he said. "Yes, that means something to me. Remember the birth certificate I said I found in Melissa's personal effects? Same name."

Robert reached into the leather shoulder bag he'd brought with him, found the birth certificate, and handed it over to the lawyer.

"The plot thickens," Franklin said, looking the document over. "There's something else," he added. "Along with the will, there's a sealed letter from Melissa addressed to you with instructions to be read only in the event of her death. Are you ready for it?"

Robert nodded. "Let me see it," he said. Franklin handed over the envelope.

"I'm going to visit the bathroom," he said. "Please take your time."

Robert opened the letter and began to read:

My Dearest Robert,

I know you're probably wondering why I never told you about Tallulah. I'm so sorry for keeping such a big secret from you, along with everything else that I hid from you.

I was young and scared when I fell pregnant with Tallulah. I didn't know what to do. I thought that if you found out, you would leave me. So I kept it a secret until you found out about it from your private investigator.

And, no matter what anyone has said about that night we fought, you need to know I had nothing to do with the fall. It was an accident.

I had Tallulah adopted, and I never told anyone else about her. I thought that I was doing the right thing, but I was wrong.

I've regretted my decision ever since. I've missed Tallulah every day.

I am so sorry for everything. I kept these terrible secrets until my dying day, and they have eaten me up.

I know that you may never be able to forgive me for what I did, but I hope that you can at least try to understand.

I love you,

Mel

Robert folded the letter gently and placed it on the desk on top of Melissa's will and Tallulah's birth certificate. He sat back in his chair, turned his head, and looked out at the sparkle of twilight breaking over the city. I miss this town, he found himself thinking.

Franklin came back in then and took his seat. He waited a few moments, fearful to interrupt his client's reverie. After a time, Robert looked over at Franklin. "She said she's sorry," he said. "In the letter. She's sorry," he repeated.

Franklin nodded and said nothing.

"In her will, Franklin. She left her entire estate to Tallulah?" Robert asked.

Franklin nodded. "I looked into it. She tied all the assets up in a trust account that pays out to her daughter in the event of Melissa's death."

Roger looked away again. "So, she got half of everything in the divorce. Never told me about it after I recovered from my head injury. And then she left it all to this secret child, Tallulah," he mused.

"That's the gist of it," Franklin said.

"By rights, that money is mine," Robert said. "Can we challenge the will in court? Can the divorce be rescinded?"

"Yeah, I think that's possible," Franklin said. "It won't be easy. It'll cost a lot of money and take a long time, but yeah, I think we can make a case."

"How much money are we talking about here?" Robert asked.

"You mean, how much will it cost to contest the will and annul the divorce?" Franklin asked.

"No, how much money was my wife worth when she died?" Robert asked.

Franklin flipped through pages in the folder, shuffled a few together, and handed them to Roger. "Last figure there," he said.

Robert looked at the figures before carefully dropping the pages onto the pile in front of him. He nodded. "Nearly half a billion dollars," he said.

"A lot of money," Franklin said.

"And it all goes to her daughter Tallulah now?"

"That's right," Franklin said. "Unless we sue the estate for what she did to you, hiding all this."

"In that folder you have there, are then any contact details for Tallulah?"

Franklin rummaged through the folder again. "There's a last known address. Looks like a business address."

"Where is it?"

"Los Angeles," Franklin said. Both men sat in silence for a moment. The sun was setting over the Hudson River, painting a strip of orange on the water as if it were a magic carpet.

"What do you want to do, Rob?" Franklin asked after a long pause.

"Write down that address for me, please, Frank," he said.

***

It was a smoggy late afternoon on which Robert tracked down the address Franklin had given him—a low-rent warehouse complex in West Hollywood. Robert had his chauffeur pull up outside the building and keep the car running while he went inside.

The reception area—if you could call it that—was shabby and sparsely furnished; some items of clothing lay discarded on the floor, light stands, and other bits of what looked like film production equipment were scattered across the space, and an air of squalor prevailed.

A heavily tattooed, bald, bearded man hulked over a laptop computer at a desk in a corner of the room. Robert approached slowly, careful not to catch the man by surprise; he looked like the type who carried a gun in the belt of his pants.

When Robert was near, the man looked up and fixed him with a glare. "Help you?" he asked gruffly.

"I hope so," Robert said, holding his ground. "I'm looking for a woman," he said.

"Join the club, aren't we all," the man retorted humorlessly.

"She's around 33 years old. This is the address I was given as her workplace," Robert went on, ignoring the sarcasm (and realizing he had no idea what Tallulah looked like.)

"Well, that narrows it down, doesn't it?" the man said. "Let's see, that could be any one of, I dunno, a hundred women in the last year alone. I can't help you, brah. Best you shove off. Are you a lawyer or somethin'?"

"No, I'm not a lawyer," Robert said. "This is a personal matter. I'm looking for my wife's daughter."

"Ha," the man said, "another one looking for a long-lost daughter. Join the club."

"What is it you do here?" Robert asked.

"What does it look like, brah? I'm not liking all these questions," the man said and looked back at his laptop screen.

"Looks like you make films," Robert said. "Is this a pornography studio?"

"Got that right, genius. Now are you going to piss off, or do I have to throw you out?"

"There's no need for that. We're having a polite conversation here. I'm here to give this woman some news about her mother; she died," Robert said.

The man looked up at Robert and said nothing, but a spark of compassion ignited in his eyes. "What's her name?" he asked.

"Tallulah," Robert replied.

The man nodded in recognition. "I know that name," he said. "What's it worth to you to find her?"

"How does a thousand dollars sound?" Robert asked.

"Let's see the cash," the man said. Robert took out his wallet, counted out ten crisp hundred-dollar notes, and handed them over.

"Her stage name is Tulip Jones, or sometimes she goes by TJ. Try Melrose Productions a couple of blocks over," the man offered. "And don't tell her I told you where to find her. She's not exactly in our good books around here. Ran out on us a year ago."

"Thanks," was all Robert said, and he turned around and left.

Robert's reception at Melrose Productions was somewhat warmer, although, as before, his presence was not entirely welcome. After making similar inquiries as to the whereabouts of Tallulah, a.k.a Tulip, he was given a cell phone number; she wasn't at the studio.

Figuring that Tallulah would be unlikely to answer a call from an unknown number, Robert decided to send her a text message.

Dear Tallulah, he wrote. My name is Robert and I have some urgent news to share with you about your birth mother, Melissa. Please could we meet at your earliest convenience?

It was somewhat formal, he knew, but best to play it that way and hope that she would respond positively.

Robert's black SUV was cruising slowly down Santa Monica Boulevard, and he told his driver to carry on going towards the beach, hoping that Tallulah would respond quickly and they would be able to meet in the area right there and then.

He didn't have to wait long, but also was not encouraged by the response:

Who is this? I don't know anything about my birth mother, Tallulah texted back.

Thanks for replying, Robert wrote. I am your birth mother's husband. I have news that she has passed away but considered you in her will. I would like to meet so we can discuss this in person.

Meet where? Came the reply.

I am in the Hollywood area and can meet you anywhere that's convenient.

There was a long pause. Robert had his driver keep the car going down Santa Monica while he glanced on and off at this phone. Eventually, it pinged: Canter's on N. Fairfax in half an hour, the text read.

Robert knew the deli well; it was practically a landmark, if not a tourist trap, like much of Hollywood.

Great, see you shortly, Robert texted back and instructed his driver to make a U-turn and head back for the meeting. He took a booth inside Canter's near the door and watched it attentively, wondering how he would identify Tallulah.

He didn't have to worry for long; when she walked in, he knew it was her immediately. She was the spitting image of her mother: short in stature, with long blonde hair, athletic figure—outfitted in body-hugging spandex.

But it was her eyes that were the tell-tale giveaway: wide, clear, crystal blue, exactly the same as her mother's. With one distinct difference, which Robert picked up immediately when he stood up to greet her: they were washed through with sadness.

"Thanks very much for agreeing to see me, Tallulah," Robert began when the two of them were seated across from each other in the booth. "I know this must come as a big surprise to you."

"Not much surprises me anymore," Tallulah said with a world-weariness that almost broke Robert's heart. "What have you got? Let's hear it," she challenged.

Robert told her everything from the beginning: his past with Melissa, his head injury and the aftermath, the discovery of the documents, and his knowledge of Tallulah's existence. He finished by telling her about the meeting with the lawyer and the inheritance.

Tallulah didn't say anything for a long time, absorbing all this information and considering all the angles. "How much is it worth, the inheritance?" she asked.

"A hell of a lot of money, Tallulah, a hell of a lot. I'd rather not say now, but trust me, it's all yours. It's tied up in a trust that the lawyers will need to unwind so you can access it, but I'd like to advise you on how to manage it."

"Why should I trust you to handle my money?" Tallulah shot at Robert suspiciously.

"I've made it my business to manage money, and believe me, it's not as easy as you think," Robert replied. "I'm sure you've heard of how many people who win the lottery are destroyed by it. They can't handle the sudden riches; they stop working, spend recklessly, and many of them land up broke and in debt—far worse off than before they won."

"That won't happen to me. I know how to look after myself. I have all my life; I don't need others to tell me how to live or how I should spend my money," Tallulah said.

Just then, the waitress brought out their order: two famous Canter's shakes, vanilla, and a Club sandwich to share. Tallulah nibbled on a few French fries. They both sucked on the shakes and didn't say anything for a time.

"Can I ask you something personal?" Robert said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"I guess," Tallulah replied reluctantly.

"Do you like working in this industry?"

"No, I hate it," Tallulah replied after a long pause. "I want to get out. I've been trying to get out forever, but it's the only thing I know how to do."

"How did you get into it?"

"My foster mother. She did it, and her boyfriend was a director. I kind of fell into it as a teenager. Grooming, they call it. I hated her for it. I hated both of them."

"Well, trust me, from this day on, you don't have to do it ever again. I can promise you that. It's not something your real mother would have wanted for you."

"What happens next?" Tallulah asked.

"Here's my card," Robert said, reaching for his wallet and handing Tallulah a business card.

She looked up at him with a hint of surprise and hope after she'd skimmed the details on the card. "You're a producer?" she asked.

"Executive producer," Robert said. "I don't get involved much in the nuts and bolts of production. Mostly, I invest money in films and make a return if the film is profitable. It's a hit-and-miss affair, but I dig it. I can show you how to get into it if you like. With your inheritance money, you'll be in a good place, as long as you don't gamble it all on one film. It's a tough business."

"I could go for that," Tallulah said thoughtfully. "The proper film business, I mean. Not gambling."

"I can help you with that. But to answer your question about what happens next. How about if we set up a meeting at my office in Santa Monica? I'll put you in touch with the law firm, and we can discuss the details and arrangements. Also, I'd like you to meet my kids."

"You have kids? How old are they?"

"Twins: a boy and a girl. Twenty-two. Good kids. One's at film school, and one's studying business. Good combination."

***

A few days later, they were all seated comfortably in the lounge area of Robert's Santa Monica beachfront office, sipping on coffees and sparkling water. Robert had introduced Sandra and Pete to their half-sibling, and they had hit it off immediately.

Small talk drifted between them for a time before Robert brought them gently to "business." "Tallulah," he said, "I think it'll be best if we fly to New York to meet the lawyer and deal with your inheritance there."

"Welcome to the high life!" Sandra said with a laugh. "My dad has a private jet."

"Oh, wow, okay," Tallulah said, wide-eyed. "Are there any more big surprises in store for me?"

"Do you like horses?" Pete asked.

"I love horses!" Tallulah replied.

"We'll take you to the stables sometime to meet our horses. It's very therapeutic," Sandra offered.

Robert nodded and, with a smile, said, "I think that's about it for the surprises for now. I'll set up a meeting with the lawyer and make all the arrangements to get us over there."

"I've been thinking," Tallulah said shyly, "about what I'd like to do with some of the money."

"Yeah?" Robert said. "Let's hear it."

"I'd like to set up an organization that will help abused girls and women get out of the porn industry if they want to. It's very hard to get out; you need help with housing, finding a proper job, and often help getting off drugs and booze. I'd like to run an organization that helps women do that."

"That's a fantastic idea," Robert said.

"I love it," Sandra said. "We could name it in honor of our mother. How about Melissa's Hope?"

"That's good," Pete chimed in. "I'd be happy to draw up a business plan and get it off the ground."

Robert felt a surge of pride for his children and for Tallulah's courage. He had had to dig deep into his heart to forgive Melissa for what she had done, but this outcome confirmed just how right that choice had been.

Tallulah, Pete, and Sandra established a successful charitable organization under Robert's mentorship. Tallulah blossomed in her new role, becoming a passionate advocate for women and children who have been groomed and trafficked. She also connected with her half-siblings, and they formed a close bond.

Robert remained grateful for everything he had been given in life and took every opportunity to give to others and help them as best he could. And above all, he remained grateful for the lesson in forgiveness his late wife had given him.

Tell us what you think about this story, and share it with your friends. It might inspire them and brighten their day.

If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one about a wife who met a woman with her husband's baby in her arms.

This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone's life. If you would like to share your story, please send it to info@amomama.com.