At his funeral, I sat in the front row.
Rebecca sat across the aisle.
She didn’t look at me once.
Michael did.
Thomas didn’t.
I cried through the entire service.
Not because of the inheritance.
Not because of the house.
Because the man who had once noticed my tired feet was gone.
After the funeral, I returned to the house alone.
It had never felt so large.
His coffee cup was still beside the sink.
His newspaper was still folded on the table.
His reading glasses were sitting beside his chair.
I stood there for almost an hour.
Then I sat down and cried until I couldn’t cry anymore.
Two days later, Richard’s lawyer called.
“Mrs. Hale?”
“Yes.”
“I need you to come to my office.”
“About the estate?”
There was a pause.
“About Mr. Hale’s final instructions.”
When I arrived, all three children were already there.
Rebecca looked at me.
