The place where my clothes hung, where my tools filled the garage, where Evelyn’s coffee cup still sat upside down beside the sink.
But legally, it would belong to someone else.
The attorney continued.
Most of Evelyn’s investment accounts were divided among three charities: a homeless shelter, a community meal program, and a scholarship fund for adults returning to vocational training.
There was no large cash inheritance for me.
No house.
No investments.
Nothing.
I sat motionless.
The old version of me should have been furious.
Instead, all I could think was that I might never sit in Evelyn’s kitchen again.
The attorney closed the document.
Caroline watched me.
“Well?”
I looked at her.
“Well what?”
“Aren’t you going to fight it?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
She seemed surprised.
The attorney cleared his throat.
“There is one additional item.”
He reached beneath the table and lifted an old cardboard shoebox.
My name was written across the lid.
Michael.
