Outside, a lawn mower started somewhere down the street.
The ordinary noise felt strangely cruel. The world continued as though nothing inside that bedroom had changed.
Owen sat across from us.
“I wasn’t stealing her belongings,” he said. “She asked me to pack them. She’s preparing to move into hospice care.”
I looked at the will again.
“And she wants you to inherit everything.”
“I’ve told her I don’t want it.”
Marjorie gave a weak laugh.
“He argues with me about it every day.”
“I didn’t come here for her house,” Owen said. “I came because I needed answers.”
Marjorie looked at him with a tenderness that made my eyes burn.
“You came because part of you needed to know that your mother had been loved.”
Owen’s eyes filled with tears.
“She was,” Marjorie whispered. “Every day. Every hour. Even when she believed otherwise.”
