Not for the house.
Not for the money.
But because the man who had made me feel safe for the first time in years was gone.
After the funeral, Richard’s lawyer asked me to come to his office.
When I arrived, Richard’s three sons were already there.
No one greeted me.
On the lawyer’s desk was a small wooden
box.
There was no visible will.
No thick pile of documents.
Just the box.
Rebecca lay in her chair with a slight smile.
Then the lawyer looked at me.
“Richard left very specific instructions.”
No one spoke.
He slowly pushed the wooden box down the desk to me.
Then he said:
“He made sure you got exactly what you deserved.”
Rebecca let out a chuckle.
And as I reached out to the lid, I suddenly wondered if Richard knew anything about me that I had never told him.
