Mr. Henderson handed the document to Martha, who looked at it for a moment, her eyes scanning the page. She smiled, a gesture so subtle yet rich with triumph.

“I do,” she said, her voice steady and clear. “Robert left it to me.”

Jessica’s face twisted with disbelief. “That’s impossible! You must be lying!”

“It’s all here,” the lawyer interjected, pointing to the fine print. “The deed, signed and notarized. Your father knew his time was limited, and he wanted to ensure Martha had a home she could call her own, free from worry or fear.”

Kevin’s bravado deflated, the reality sinking in. He looked around the living room, the walls that were to be freshly painted, the furniture that was to be rearranged, all slipping out of his grasp like sand through fingers. The scotch glass trembled in his hand.