Step aside, sweetheart, the adults are signing the papers now

I picked up the pen. I turned it slowly between my fingers, the way Dad used to turn his reading glasses when he was about to say something important. Then I set it down. ‘Before I sign,’ I said, ‘I think Mr. Abernathy should join us.’ Vivienne’s smile flickered. ‘Who?’ The study door opened, and Dad’s estate attorney walked in carrying a leather folder I recognized instantly. It was the one Dad kept locked in his bottom drawer. The one he’d handed me six weeks before he passed, when he asked me to wheel him out to the garden. ‘Hannah,’ Mr. Abernathy said warmly, ‘I have the updated will your father executed in October. The one witnessed by his physician and two nurses at Mercy Hospice.’ Marcus shot up. ‘That’s not possible. The will was finalized in August.’ ‘Amended,’ Mr. Abernathy corrected. ‘Your father was quite specific. He noted that during his final ninety-two days, only one child visited. Only one child read to him. Only one child held his hand when he was afraid.’ He opened the folder. ‘The Greenwich estate, the investment accounts, and controlling interest in Whitaker Holdings pass entirely to Hannah. Marcus and Vivienne receive the contents of the wine cellar and a letter.’ Vivienne’s bracelet slid down her wrist as her arm went limp. ‘A letter?’ I reached into my apron pocket and pulled out the envelope Dad had given me to deliver. I placed it gently in front of her. ‘He said you’d know what it meant.’ She opened it with shaking fingers. Inside was a single photograph: Marcus and Vivienne laughing on a yacht, posted to her Instagram on October 14th. The same day Dad had asked for them and cried when they didn’t come. On the back, in Dad’s careful handwriting: ‘I saw everything. Love still costs something. – Dad.’ I untied my apron, folded it neatly, and laid it on the desk. ‘I’ll keep the recipe box too,’ I said. ‘Please be out by Sunday.’