But what about my grandfather? He loved me. He simply did it, without feeling obligated or guilty.
After the service, the air seemed odd, like if it no longer belonged to me. It clung to my suit like smoke, full of old hymns and unsaid tension. People went in groups, whispering condolences and sipping from white paper cups filled with unpleasant church coffee that had long since cooled.
They exchanged sorrowful smiles and stiff handshakes, but none of them reached me. My thoughts were still at the graveside, with my fingertips stroking the cool edge of the casket, attempting to recall the texture of goodbye.
That was when I sensed my mother, Lenora, behind me.
“Rhys,” she whispered, her voice tight with something other than grief. “Come here a moment, please.”
She didn’t wait for my response. She simply reached out, her manicured hand gently closing around my elbow, and guided me away from the guests. We wound up in a quiet alcove at the church’s side door, beneath a tall, narrow window decorated with glass saints.
They appeared fatigued, as if they were tired of faking.
Her aroma struck me first, too sweet, like withering flowers in a vase. It blended with the aroma of incense and weathered wood, making my stomach turn.
“You did such a good job taking care of Grandpa, son,” she added, wiping something unseen off her silk sleeve. “I’ve heard he left you the house. “That was… generous.”
“Yeah,” I said, my mouth suddenly dry. “He wanted me to have it.”
“Well,” she continued, her lips pressed into that same insincere smile that I’d seen my entire life. “You need to sign it over to your sister. As soon as possible.”
“Excuse me?” My jaw twitched, and stress began to build in my chest.
“Marianne has tiny children. You are a young bachelor. You’ll buy a new one someday. She needs this. “She requires the stability of that house.
“Mom, why exactly should I go against Grandpa’s final wish?” I stared at my mother. “If he wanted Marianne to have it, then he would have left it to her.”
