“There’s something else you need to see,” Lucas said, reaching inside his jacket to pull out a small velvet box tied with a faded ribbon. He handed it to me with trembling fingers, urging me to open the clasp right there under the afternoon sun.
As the lid snapped open, a small golden key and an official legal deed rested against the velvet, carrying a name I never expected to see ….
The document bore our parents’ signatures, dated just days before the tragic accident that had changed our lives forever. It was an agreement transferring the family workshop directly into both of our names, designed specifically so we would always have a reason to stay united.
“They never blamed you, and neither did I,” Lucas admitted, wiping a stray tear from his cheek with the back of his sleeve. “I let my grief turn into anger, and I almost let this day slip away without telling you the truth.”
