The first nights were the hardest.
"Don't call here again," my DIL said.
The line went dead before I could draw a breath.
***
Two days after that, a courier knocked on the trailer door, holding a thin envelope from Daniel's stationery. When I opened the letter, it said I wasn't to contact the family or contest anything.
It was said that their father had been confused in his final months and that they wouldn't tolerate interference.
"Don't call here again."
I read it twice, folded it, and put it in the drawer. I didn't bother writing back. I didn't have the fight in me, and I wasn't even sure I had the right.
***
My neighbor, Joyce, came over that Sunday with a tuna casserole.
"Heard you were new," she said, setting it on the counter as if we'd known each other for years. "I don't ask questions unless they're invited."
