www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-7334313/I-never-felt-marriage-important-day-Paolo-died.html
Legally, our relationship meant nothing. I'd always believed we were 'as good as' married. But despite widespread use of the term, there is no such thing as common law marriage in Britain — and when Paolo died, I had no rights at all.
How many of those couples realise that if one partner dies, the other won't automatically inherit their property, or be entitled to their pension or life insurance?
How many of them are aware that, unlike a bereaved married person, they might have to pay significant tax on anything their partner left them?
And when I most needed the support of the authorities, I was frozen out.
When I tried to register Paolo's death, I was told I wasn't his relative; and because he had died at a different address, I wasn't even seen as a significant other.
Then I had to deal with informing everyone of his death, closing his bank accounts and credit cards, sorting out savings, his pension and trying to transfer things to my accounts so I could pay the bills.
Because we weren't married, I had no entitlement to Paolo's last salary — which I needed to pay our mortgage. The bank would pay that money only to our son Connor, who didn't have a bank account.
Foolishly, we hadn't written wills — although we'd talked about it. Instead, I had to go through the complicated process of probate, which took months, cost thousands in solicitors' fees and is subject to inheritance tax, which I thankfully didn't have to pay because our property was in our joint names and I was under the financial threshold. But widows never have to pay it.
What's more, if Paolo and I had been married, I'd have automatically received a benefit called Bereavement Support, which is a lump sum of £3,500 and 18 monthly payments of £350. As it was, I didn't get a single penny to help provide for Connor.