After the service, I walked to my car.
I had just unlocked the door when Nora called my name.
“Lucas. Wait.”
She approached carrying a small cardboard box sealed with tape.
“She asked me to give this to you after the funeral.”
I stared at the box.
“What’s inside?”
“I don’t know everything. She told me not to open it.”
My name was written across the lid in Alicia’s handwriting.
For a moment, I could almost hear her teasing me about my handwriting in return.
I opened the box.
On top lay a letter from an attorney.
I began reading, expecting perhaps a final message or instructions about her belongings.
Instead, I saw the word inheritance.
I read the paragraph again.
Alicia had inherited a substantial sum from her grandmother, and her legal documents named me as the beneficiary of her share.
The amount was more than enough to pay off my student loans, clear the debt I had accumulated during medical school, and give me the financial breathing room I had never experienced as an adult.
