The court hearing was a crushing emotional blow.
When my father-in-law spotted me, he erupted into a tirade of insults. What else is new?
Their lawyer made a case that the trust fund, a significant part of my mother-in-law's family legacy, should rightfully stay in the family and be transferred to her. Additionally, my wife's jewelry, cherished heirlooms from her grandmothers, should remain in the family.
My lawyer presented my wife's will and a letter she wrote when she met with him after one of their visits. I didn't even know the letter existed, so I asked to read it.
To whom it may concern,
I write the following with a heavy heart and great sadness, but certain things need to come to light, and I also need to admit them to myself.
It pains me to say this, but my parents were never real parents. I never felt love from them, nor care or concern. All my achievements and victories, they immediately claimed as their own. “Of course she reads well, that’s thanks to my genes and investment,” or “No wonder she draws beautifully, it’s the effect of my talent. It’s just a shame she will never be as good and talented as me.” On the other hand, all my failures and mistakes were mine alone. They always told me how much of a disappointment and mistake I was and how sorry they were for bringing me into the world.
My life was always planned down to the smallest details for their benefit. I was not allowed to associate with certain children because “their parents have nothing to offer.” On the other hand, I had to connect with children I did not want to be around because “her father runs a large medical equipment company,” or “her mother chairs an important charity committee that I want to cooperate with us.” They always made me feel like an object, an extension of them and their desires, not an individual with my own.
When I was diagnosed with cancer, I told my parents. I am ashamed to admit that a small part of me still hoped they would, for once, show concern or maybe even care. Of course, that did not happen. My father’s first question was, “Who is the beneficiary of your life insurance?” And my mother said, “Make sure you pass on your grandmothers’ jewelry to me before you die.” When I stopped chemotherapy, my father’s only response was, “Good. The treatment is a waste of money.”
In the last months of my life, they visited me at least once a week. Not to ask how I was or to check if I needed anything. No. They came to demand I change the beneficiary of my life insurance to my father, give the jewelry to my mother, and leave the trust fund to them in my will. That was the only thing that interested them. And when I refused, as always, they called me a mistake and the biggest disappointment of their lives.
I am not writing these things for pity, but to clarify that I do not want any of my property inherited by my parents. I know them well enough to be sure they will challenge my will and demand every cent they can get their hands on. So I ask, in every possible way: please do not give them anything. The only thing they have ever cared about is money, and that is what they will never get from me.
The only ray of light in my life was my beloved husband, John. From the day we met, he was the sunshine in my life. He brought laughter, music, delicious food, and a sense of belonging. I leave him everything, with great pain that those are the only things I have to give for years filled with love and friendship.
Thank you for your understanding and for ensuring my last wishes are respected.
With deepest gratitude,
Sophia Angela Rue
Her handwriting was so weak and shaky; she wrote this letter on one of her last days. That was an emotional blow; it hurt me to read her pain. It's been eleven months, two weeks, and four days since her death, and my recent experiences shocked me out of my grief. I thought I was getting better, but I was wrong. This letter brought a cascade of all the pain I thought I had overcome and buried me under it.
The room seemed to close in around me; the walls pressing inward as if the air itself thickened with my sorrow. I sat there, numb, my hands trembling as they gripped the letter. Each word felt like a dagger, cutting through the fragile fabric of my healing. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but it only grew, a boulder lodged in my windpipe.
The judge's voice turned into a distant echo, as if I was submerged in water and could hear the world through a muffled haze. His words echoed through a long, dark tunnel where the shadows of the past obscured the light of the present. My heart felt as if an invisible fist was squeezing it; each beat was a painful reminder of her absence.
My mind was a whirlwind of memories, each a shard of glass, tearing through the scabs of old wounds. I could see her face, pale and frail, her eyes pleading with me to promise her. Her weak, shaky handwriting danced before my eyes, a testament to her suffering, and a reminder of the love she had for me.
My composure unraveled like a tapestry with its threads pulled loose, tearing me to shreds. My breathing became shallow, my chest tightening as if bound by iron bands. I could feel the hot sting of tears welling up, but they refused to fall, trapped behind a dam of grief and regret.
My body betrayed me, slumping forward as if the weight of the letter was too much to bear. My shoulders hunched, and my hands shook uncontrollably. I clenched my jaw, trying to stave off the sobs that threatened to break free, but it was a losing battle. Each breath was a struggle, each heartbeat a painful reminder of the love I had lost. And as the judge's words continued to echo around me, I feared I would never truly escape from this grief, that her suffering would forever etch into the very core of my soul.
The judge ruled in my favor. He even told my in-laws that they didn't have a case and not to bother filing an appeal. I didn't hear him in my state; only later my lawyer could tell me the final ruling and the judge's remark to my in-laws.
After the hearing, I went to the cemetery in a daze and just spent the whole day beside her grave. I didn't talk to her; I just sat there and spent time with her. As a non-religious person, I never had thoughts about life after death. However, if it exists, I hoped the place she's in was wonderful and filled with wonder and that she received unconditional love and adoration.
The next day, I got angry. Not just angry, but totally pissed. A seething rage coursed through my veins, hotter and more volatile than anything I'd ever felt. How could they? How could they view her as a possession, in her words, in her younger years and as a source of more money on her deathbed? The audacity, the sheer heartlessness, made my blood boil.
She was so amazing, so full of life and optimism. Loved people and always listened to them, not only waiting her turn to speak. Remembered the names of all her patients and their parents. Cried for every child with a severe illness and celebrated every kid who got well. She had a fantastic sense of humor and was a fighter to the end. And these monsters, these so-called parents, had the gall to reduce her to a mere asset, a tool for their gain.
My hands clenched into fists so tight my knuckles turned white, the veins standing out like rivers of fury. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, each beat a drum of righteous anger. My teeth ground together, my jaw aching from the sheer force of my rage. Images flashed through my mind, vivid and violent. I wanted to tear them limb from limb, to see their smug, greedy faces contort in fear and pain. Wanted to burn their house to the ground, to watch the flames consume everything they held dear. I knew it wouldn't bring her back or erase the pain they caused her, but I still wanted to hurt them so badly.
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The anger was all-consuming, a firestorm within that demanded release. I paced the room, unable to sit still, my body trembling with the intensity of my emotions. Every piece of furniture, every innocent object, seemed to mock me, to challenge my restraint. I wanted to smash things, to unleash my fury on the world.
It took me a few days to cool down and start functioning again. Though still simmering beneath the surface, the rage had settled into a cold, hard determination. I was still angry, but in control of myself. I channeled that anger into purpose, into a steely resolve to honor her memory and ensure those who wronged her paid for their cruelty.
But the anger remained a constant companion, fueling my actions and hardening my heart. I would never forget, never forgive. They had taken so much from her, and while I couldn't bring her back, I could make sure they never profited from their despicable actions. And I would punish them, that I vowed.
I put my house on the market and met with the trust fund lawyer. Instead of monthly installments, I found out I could receive all the money at once. Without hesitation, I signed the papers right then and there.
I sorted through our belongings and only kept a few clothes, all the photos, and some souvenirs from our life together. It was tough for me to let go of every piece, but I forced myself, reminding myself repeatedly of my promise to her to let go of the past and live in the present. I donated the rest in her memory; she always loved to help people.
While I waited for my house to sell, I traveled all over the US, Canada, and South America looking for the Gates.
I had a big surprise in Georgia: the portal location was an army base. Not going there.
The Gate in Illinois, army base.
Both Gates in Texas, army bases.
Ok, once a coincidence; twice, maybe; four times, not a chance. The US knew about the Gates! I needed to be more careful or become a lab rat. I scoped out all the portal locations in the US. Eight were army bases, two were in Native American reserves, and only one in Alaska was accessible.
Travelers Gate #468217241
Destination: Lumis
Status: Integrated
Mana level: 32
Threat level: Humans–moderate. Other beings–high.
A human magical world. Except for the higher threat level, it sounded good, but I wanted Shimoor. I wanted boooriiing.
Both Gates in Canada were accessible, but the first one was only accessible by floatplane. It also led to Lumis, and the number was consecutive. Interesting.
Class: Gate Traveler Level 1
Gates to next level (3/3)
Level up
+1 to all stats, +5 free points, +1 ability point
Class: Gate Traveler Level 2
Stat points: 5
Ability points: 3
Gates to next level (0/5)
Yes!
I added the free stats to Constitution. It was my lowest stat, and I wanted to be sturdier. Onwards to the next Gate, which was in Canada and led to Lumis.
I flew to South America. Of the ten Gates marked on the map, three were inaccessible: One was in an area controlled by a drug cartel, one in a big industrial park with many people around, and one on private property. Another Gate lay broken—a boulder and a heap of gravel blocked the way. Approaching the Gate, I had a strong sense of danger. The other six were accessible. They led to two different places; both sounded technological, with no mana levels and technology levels Medium and Medium-low.
After four Gates:
Class: Gate Traveler Level 2
Gates to next level (5/5)
Level up
+1 to all stats, +5 free points, +1 ability point
Class: Gate Traveler Level 3
Stat points: 5
Ability points: 4
Gates to next level (0/8)
To better cope with shocks, I put the free stats into strength—I was tired of hyperventilating. Before returning home, I traveled to the next two Gates, both leading to tech worlds.
Someone made an offer on my house. It was less than it was worth, but I didn't want to wait, and instructed the realtor to finalize the transaction. I opted not to travel to the other far-off Gates and instead limit my visits to those in Europe. I just wanted to get all the money, buy everything else I might need, "farm" some more skill points, and leave. Still feeling down after the court hearing, I was tired of this place and wanted to leave it behind as soon as possible.
After an online search, I found some more upcoming one-day workshops and made a list:
Pottery Wheel Throwing Class
Terrarium Workshop
Ikebana Class
Craft Cocktail Making Class
Bonsai Tree Class
DIY Perfume Class
French Croissant Baking Class
Yoga Class
Salsa: Beginners Class
Graffiti Lesson
After attending all the workshops and classes, I gained an additional ten ability points. I allocated one for Guitar Playing and saved the rest.
While thinking about what else to bring, I went through the Archive and read more entries. One Traveler raved about boxer undergarments and bought 50 to take with him; it made me laugh, but I bought 100. I bought extra clothing, footwear, and armored leather biker gear to serve as protection. By touring pawn shops within a 100-mile radius, I gained more jewelry.
I searched for a mechanical solution to bring music with me, but unfortunately couldn't find one, even though I wanted to. There were mechanical turntables that could play vinyl records, but the ones that still worked were very popular with collectors, and I couldn't find one for sale. Instead, I went to music stores and bought every available sheet music songbook for the guitar. In addition, I visited many bookstores to load up on reading material and knowledge books on every subject: math, engineering, medicine, chemistry, and much more. Eventually, I will build my new home somewhere and might need this knowledge.
Finally, my house sold, and I paid the mortgage, got the rest of the money, and started the last shopping spree. The idea of storing food as-is in my Storage didn't appeal to me. I knew it would keep infinitely fresh after experimenting with a cup of coffee, which stayed hot for over two months, but it didn't feel right.
After buying 50 commercial chest coolers, I filled them with ice and started visiting stores. First, fifteen different butchers—cleaned them out. Next, fish shops–the same. Now, fresh eggs—I suspected I had created a shortage.
Then I went to various delis and half-emptied them as well. Next, fruits and vegetables. That gave me an idea, and I went to some nurseries and bought seeds. Not knowing what was available in fantasy land, I was unwilling to spend the rest of my life without tomatoes, coffee, and chocolate. In addition, I've stocked up on a large quantity of coffee and tea. And some more coffee. Hmm, a bit more. No, I'm not crazy, just need some more coffee. I bought over 100 kilograms of instant, ground, and whole coffee beans. After all, I had the manual coffee grinder; I had to use it.
My shopping list included dairy products, various spices, salt, rice, large quantities of pasta, an assortment of candies, cooking and lamp oil, and copious amounts of white and brown sugar. I visited every bakery I could find and bought baked goods and bread, bread, bread.
Now, alcohol: I bought whiskey, bourbon, and wine barrels. They would look less suspicious, and emptied the stock of three liquor stores of beer and spirits. Despite not being much of a drinker, I'd need some social lubricant, and it's a great ice-breaker. I also stocked A LOT of water; I had the Purify spell, but preferred to have water in comfortable plastic bottles. Just in case, I bought ten of the biggest rainwater tanks with a tap I could find and filled them with water.
All my coolers were full, and I had giant boxes of everything else. Of course, I also stocked a lot of toilet paper (I don't like leaves), shampoo, soap, shaving cream and razors, and detergent.
My storage started looking pretty full. I didn't believe I could fill 512 cubic meters of space, but I managed. I spent another ability point to house the rest of my money; there was no point in leaving it behind; I'd take it with me as goods. Now, I had 1728 cubic meters. Challenge accepted.
My plan was to drive between the Gates in Europe, making stops at supermarkets to stock up and visiting pawn shops and gaming stores for copper.
I felt ready. Just one last thing to do …