Some nights I cried on the bedroom floor until I had nothing left.
Other nights I stared at the ceiling, wondering where I had failed Grace.
On the twenty-eighth day, Ethan appeared at my door.
“The buyers want to close sooner,” he said. “You need to be out by Friday.”
Friday was two days away.
There was only one place I had not packed yet.
The attic.
Grace’s old things were still up there, and I had been avoiding them because I knew the memories would hurt.
I climbed the narrow stairs and began moving boxes.
Then an old metal lockbox slipped from my hands and crashed open on the floor.
Inside was an envelope with my name written in Grace’s handwriting.
My heart stopped.
Inside were legal documents.
A trust summary.
And then something else.
A guardian benefit fund.
Grace had created a separate account for whoever raised her children if something ever happened to her.
For thirteen years, I had never known it existed.
There was enough money for me to buy a home of my own and live comfortably for years.
Beneath the documents was a note from Grace.
She wrote that she hoped her sons would grow up understanding that love should be repaid with gratitude.
Before I could fully process it, Ethan and Lucas came rushing up the attic stairs.
They said the inspector had found a foundation crack.
Repairs would cost forty thousand dollars.
And they expected me to pay.
“Why would I do that?” I asked.
“Because you owe us,” Ethan said.
For the first time in weeks, I felt calm.
I looked at the two young men standing in front of me.
