The day of my father’s funeral, I felt the weight of grief press down on me, as though the overcast sky was mourning alongside me. The ceremony was a blur until I felt a tap on my shoulder. Mr. Aldrin, my father’s lawyer, handed me a sealed envelope with my father’s handwriting. Inside, he urged me to follow my stepmother, Lora, and her sons after the ceremony. There was something they were hiding.
As the funeral ended, I watched Lora and her sons leave without a hint of sorrow. They drove to a nondescript building on the outskirts of town, and I followed. What I found inside shook me to the core—my father’s most prized possessions, many of them valuable, were scattered around. Lora had taken them, and I realized she had been stealing from him even before his death.
Lora’s excuses didn’t matter. My father had suspected her intentions and had changed his will. With quiet resolve, I called the lawyer and began cataloging the stolen items, donating what I could. Lora and her sons disappeared from my life, but my father’s legacy remained intact. I framed his letter, a final reminder of his love and protection for me.
