“—was already transferred to Daniel eighteen months ago, while Thomas was still alive.
Thomas wanted Daniel provided for directly, not through the estate.”
I looked down at the pages.
My name.
Thomas’s name.
Numbers I couldn’t quite process.
“Why?” I said.
“Why me?
He hadn’t seen me in fifty-five years.”
Mr.
Hale was quiet for a moment.
Then: “He told me once that he made two decisions when he was young that shaped his entire life.
The first was buying that house on Maple Street.
The second was never selling it.” He paused.
“He said the house was always the answer to a question he hoped you’d eventually come back to ask.”
I pressed my fingers against the document to stop them trembling.
“There’s one more thing,” Mr.
Hale said.
His voice was careful now.
Measured.
“Daniel contacted my office yesterday morning.
He’d been notified that the estate had been settled and that there was a surviving spouse.” He looked at me steadily.
“He’s asked to meet you.”
The room was very quiet.
“He’s angry?” I asked.
Mr.
Hale chose his words slowly.
“He has questions,” he said.
“About his father.
About the marriage.
About the timing.” A beat.
“I think it would be fair to say he is not entirely at peace with the situation.”
I looked at the keys on the cushion beside me.
The envelope.
The document in my hands.
Fifty-two years old.
A son who had questions.
A house that had been waiting for me for fifty-four years.
“Tell him yes,” I said.
“I’ll meet him.”
Mr.
Hale nodded.
He began to gather his briefcase.
“Mr.
Hale,” I said.
He looked up.
“Did Thomas know Daniel was going to be angry?”
He held my gaze for a moment.
“Thomas knew Daniel very well,” he said.
“He left a letter for him too.
He asked me to give it to Daniel only after the two of you had met.”
He snapped the briefcase shut and stood.
“He planned all of this,” I said quietly.
Not to Mr.
Hale.
To myself.
To Thomas.
Mr.
