The memorial service drew far more people than I expected. My father had spent thirty years building homes throughout the town, and many of the families he’d worked for came to pay their respects, sharing stories I’d never heard before.
Derek and Amber stood beside me throughout the service. We were kind to one another, balancing genuine grief with the reality that we also shared an inheritance.
Twice during the reception, Derek mentioned the house. The second time, Amber quietly touched his arm, and he stopped speaking.
That told me enough.
So I invited both of them to meet the following Saturday at Dad’s house.
It felt like the only place where that conversation truly belonged.
The following Saturday, Derek showed up first. He brought his girlfriend, Maya, explaining she was there for support. She hadn’t been invited, but I didn’t object. About twenty minutes later Amber arrived carrying a homemade coffee cake. It was a thoughtful gesture, even if eating cake while discussing the future of our father’s estate felt strangely out of place.
