“Just sign at the bottom of page four, and we can get the sign in the yard by tomorrow morning,” he said. His voice was smooth, professional, entirely unbothered.

I looked at the pen. Then I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the trust agreement from the bank.

I slid it across the table, right over his polished listing agreement.

“What is this?” Richard asked, his brow furrowing as he picked it up.

“Read the last page first, Richard,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “Your father always said it saves a lot of time.”

Richard smirked, but as his eyes scanned the legal document, the color began to drain from his face. He flipped to the signature page, then back to the front, his fingers moving frantically.

“This… this can’t be right,” he stammered. “He couldn’t do this. The house is a major asset. It needs to be liquidated for your care.”

“My care is taken care of,” I said quietly. “Your father made sure of that. The house stays. I stay.”

Richard stared at the document, his mouth slightly open. The smooth, confident real estate agent had completely vanished. He looked like a boy who had just been caught trying to steal from the kitchen counter.

“You should have told me,” he muttered, his voice dropping its polished edge.

“Arthur told you,” I said. “He wrote it down. You just didn’t want to read it.”

Richard stood up, his leather folder slipping slightly. He didn’t sign anything. He didn’t pat my shoulder. He just walked out of the house, his shoes loud on the linoleum, and drove away without looking back.

The house was quiet again.

I went back to the living room and picked up The Blue Lake from Arthur’s chair. I closed the cover, aligning the pages carefully, and put it on the top shelf of the bookcase, right next to the encyclopedia.

I walked to the kitchen and finally cleaned up the spilled coffee. Then I made myself a piece of toast with plum jam, Arthur’s favorite, and sat by the window.

The sun was starting to peek through the gray Michigan clouds, melting the last of the dirty snow in the garden. I still miss him. Every single day. But as I took a bite of my toast, I looked out at the flower beds where the tulips would soon be coming up.

I had won. The house was mine. But it was just a Tuesday again, quiet and cold, and I had to figure out what to make for dinner.