I stood. I wasn’t tall and had never won a fight in my life, but I held the envelope to my chest like the only piece of family I’d ever been given—because it was.

“Touch me,” I said, “and you’ll find out exactly what Marianne taught me about standing up for myself.”

Arthur’s shoulders sagged briefly before his anger returned. He pointed a trembling finger toward the door.

“Get out. Take your papers and never come back.”

I gathered the envelope against my chest and walked past him without another word.

***

Weeks later, after the lawyers finalized probate, I took the train into the city.

Simon waited outside the small shop on a quiet corner. He was a gentle man in his 50s, with kind eyes and ink-stained fingers.

“You must be Addie, the one who visited Marianne every Sunday,” he said softly. “She told me you’d come.”