Soon she told me stories about Arthur, about the loneliness of a giant house, and about her four adult children.
The way she talked about them always felt different.
One afternoon, stirring tea absentmindedly, she sighed.
“Bradley wants another meeting with the estate lawyer.”
“That sounds important.”
“It sounds like vultures circling,” she muttered.
Then she added quickly, “But you didn’t hear me say that.”
I pretended I hadn’t.
But I had.
And I felt sorry for her.
She had wealth, comfort, and everything money could buy.
Yet the people closest to her seemed interested only in what she might leave behind.
Then something happened that changed everything.
