PART 3
“What did he know?” I asked.
Arthur’s expression tightened.
“Enough to be concerned.”
He opened the blue folder in front of him and removed several neatly clipped documents. The top page bore Robert’s signature, strong and familiar, the R sweeping confidently into the rest of his name.
Seeing it nearly undid me.
I pressed my fingers to my lips.
Arthur waited.
He was kind enough not to fill the silence.
When I could speak again, I said, “Jennifer told me the will leaves everything to Matthew.”
Arthur’s brows rose slightly.
“That is not true.”
“I knew it wasn’t.”
“Then I’m glad Robert made certain you had copies.”
I thought of the envelope hidden in my suitcase, buried beneath a folded cardigan in the small room beside the garage. My damp little room, as Jennifer had called it with that polished smile of hers. The room where Max’s old blankets still smelled faintly of dog shampoo.
“She put me in the service room,” I said.
Arthur went still.
“What?”
I looked down at my hands.
It was strange, what humiliation did to a person. The insult itself was terrible, but speaking it aloud made it sharper, more real. I had survived the night by pretending I was observing someone else’s life. Now, in this quiet room, I had to admit it had happened to me.
“After the funeral,” I said, keeping my voice level, “Jennifer said my good life was over. She said the house belonged to Matthew now. She told me I could sleep beside the garage if the dog didn’t need the space.”
Arthur closed his eyes for a brief moment.
When he opened them, there was no rage on his face. Only controlled disappointment, which somehow felt heavier.
“And Matthew?”
“He looked at the floor.”
Arthur leaned back slowly.
“I see.”
May you like
Those two words carried the weight of a thousand others.
