My self-serving brother insisted on claiming the family home I had inherited from our deceased father.
Yet, just a day later, he called me, sobbing, asking me to take it back.
Something within those walls had rattled him deeply, and I knew what it was.
The moment Dad’s laughter faded from our home was when my life lost its vibrancy.
For years, I stood helpless as illness gradually extinguished the spark in his eyes, my hands trembling as I fed him soup or adjusted his pillows.
In his final moments, gripping his frail hand and murmuring “I love you,” I felt a fragment of my heart shatter.
The house was filled with memories of happier times, but it was also marked by the glaring absence of my brother Kyle, who couldn’t even bother to say farewell.
On the day Dad passed away, I found myself alone in his hospital room, clutching his hand as the monitors flatlined.
The ensuing silence was overwhelming.
I longed to shout and rail against the injustice of it all, but I simply sat there, numbed, tears streaming down my cheeks.
“I’ll miss you, Dad,” I whispered. “I hope I made you proud.”
Leaving the hospital that day, it felt as though I was leaving a part of myself behind.
The world around me seemed drab and less lively without Dad in it.
Driving home, I felt enveloped in a haze of grief. Every familiar corner and storefront stirred memories that haunted me.
The following days slipped by in a blur of funeral planning and well-wishers.
I kept myself busy with the arrangements, finding a sliver of comfort in the distractions.
It wasn’t until the will reading that I encountered Kyle again.
He strode into the lawyer’s office, flaunting his expensive attire and polished shoes.
Kyle had always been the one chasing ambition, leveraging Dad’s connections to propel his career.
Once he got what he wanted, he disappeared without a trace.
While I was at Dad’s side during countless chemo sessions, the absence of Kyle loomed overhead like a heavy cloud.
Dad’s gaze would flicker hopefully toward the door at every sound, but Kyle never showed up.
Those long, dark nights, when Dad would softly sigh, “I wish both my boys were here,” would crack my heart all over again.
And when Dad breathed his last, the empty chair beside his bed cried out Kyle’s indifference louder than any words could express.
“Let’s get this over with,” Kyle interrupted my thoughts, glancing at the ground as he sat.
Mrs. Hill, Dad’s attorney, began reading the will. Dad’s assets were to be divided equally between us until she paused to look directly at me.
“The family home is to be left entirely to Joseph.”
Kyle’s head jerked upward in shock.
“What?”
Mrs.
Hill continued, “Your father, William, explicitly stated that the house should go to Joseph due to his care and dedication during his illness.”
I could sense Kyle’s glare burning into me, but I remained focused on the lawyer.
“Additionally,” she went on, “William allocated a significant sum for renovations, with detailed instructions for its use.”
As we exited the office, Kyle seized my arm. “This isn’t finished,” he hissed.
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