Three months after Henry came to live with us, he called me into his room one evening. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, holding a large envelope.
“What’s that?”
“My lawyer came by today while you were at work,” Henry revealed.
“I had him draw up a new will.”
He opened the envelope and pulled out the documents. His hands were steady, his eyes clear and determined.
I couldn’t speak.
The words stuck in my throat like broken glass.
“What? No… What about your children?” I finally managed.
Henry’s expression hardened in a way I’d never seen before. “I already gave them everything a father could give.
My time, love, and sacrifices. They had the best education I could afford, the happiest childhood I could manage. But they grew into people who only care about themselves.”
“I won’t let them have my peace or my dignity,” he continued.
“That belongs to someone who actually cared. That belongs to you.”
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