My Husband Faked His Death and Left Millions of Debt

Every time she overstepped her bounds, she would justify it with the same words:

"Isn’t it just to help you share the burden?" she’d say with a self-righteous tone.

"I’m not like you, Arabella. You had a loving husband who died for you and a son who’s so well-behaved and sensible."

Her voice would soften, tinged with false pity. "In my life, no one loves me, and I don’t have any children."

"You are my best friend, and now, when you need my help the most, how could I abandon you? I’ve decided—I won’t marry or have children. I’ll devote my life to helping you raise Rowan."

She always said this as though it were a noble sacrifice, but I knew better.

Just as she and Rowan were locked in one of their overly affectionate embraces, the doorbell rang.

I opened the door to find Aunt Vivienne from next door, standing with a well-dressed middle-aged man. Before I could say anything, Aunt Vivienne ushered him in.

"Arabella," she began with a smile. "This is my distant cousin, Quentin Blackthorn. He has a car, a house, and savings, but he’s still single."

She didn’t wait for my reaction and continued, "You’ve had it so hard—raising a child alone and working to pay off debts. I thought, why not introduce you to someone who could help lighten your load?"

Quentin stepped forward, placing a neatly wrapped gift on the table. His eyes lingered on me, filled with a mixture of admiration and infatuation. After a moment, he spoke, his voice soft and earnest.

"I’ve heard about your situation from my aunt," he said. "But seeing you in person… you’re even more beautiful than I imagined."

His gaze shifted to Rowan, who sat at the dining table, quietly observing. Quentin smiled warmly. "Don’t worry," he said, his tone steady and sincere. "If we get along, everything I have will be yours. Your son will be my son, and I’ll make sure he never suffers any grievances. I will treat you well."

The words were spoken with confidence, but they had an immediate effect. My best friend’s expression darkened.

She instinctively pulled Rowan closer, wrapping her arms around him protectively. Her face, which moments ago had been full of warmth, now brimmed with hostility.

But she didn’t say anything at first. Instead, she stared at me intently, her eyes urging me to speak.

I turned to Aunt Vivienne and Quentin, offering a polite but firm response.

"Thank you for your kind intentions, but I just want to focus on paying off my husband’s debts and raising my son," I said.

"As for other matters, I’m not considering them for now."

Aunt Vivienne frowned, patting the back of my hand in a motherly gesture.

"Arabella, why are you so stubborn?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

"Your husband’s company was his pre-marital property. He’s gone now, and so are his debts. You don’t have to clean up his mess."

She leaned closer, her tone softening as if trying to reason with a child.

"The most important thing for a woman is to find a good man to marry. You’re still young, but time won’t wait. It gets harder as you grow older."

I smiled gently, but my refusal was resolute.

"Aunt Vivienne, I know you mean well, and I’m grateful," I said.

"But Axel died saving me. I can’t let his name be tarnished because I gave up on his debts."

Aunt Vivienne sighed deeply, exasperation and pity mingling in her expression.

"Arabella, you’ve done enough already," she said. "You work yourself to the bone every day, juggling multiple jobs. Look at you—you’re so thin now."

Her voice trembled slightly as she continued, "We’re neighbors, and seeing you live such a hard life pains me. That’s why I introduced Quentin to you. You shouldn’t sacrifice the rest of your life for a sense of duty or guilt."

Despite her heartfelt appeal, I shook my head with a calm smile.

"Aunt Vivienne, I really appreciate your concern," I said. "But I believe this is the right path for me."

Seeing that I wouldn’t budge, Aunt Vivienne sighed again, this time with regret. She left with Quentin, their footsteps fading into the quiet of the evening.

As soon as the door closed behind them, my best friend clicked her tongue and crossed her arms.

"Tsk, what kind of person is that?" she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "Our Rowan is so outstanding—someone like that isn’t fit to be his father."

She turned to me, her expression softening into one of faux sincerity.

"Arabella, Axel treated you so well when he was alive, and he even gave his life for you," she said, her tone earnest.

"You must take care of those debts and Rowan, or you’d be dishonoring his sacrifice."

Pausing for effect, she added with a hint of urgency, "Besides, what if you remarried and that man ended up mistreating our Rowan? He’s the child you carried for ten months and gave birth to with your life!"