Arthur’s funeral was small. I received an invitation by mail from his lawyer.
That’s when I finally saw his children—Daniel, the oldest; Claire, the middle; and Mark, the youngest. They wore expensive suits and whispered about their inheritance. None of them looked at me.
After the service, a man approached. “Are you Kylie?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Thomas, Arthur’s lawyer. He requested your presence at the will reading this afternoon at my office at 3 p.m.”
I frowned. “Are you sure?”
Thomas nodded. “Very.”
I didn’t understand why, but I went.
We sat at a long table. Arthur’s children across from me, Thomas at the head.
Claire leaned toward Daniel. “Who is she?”
“No idea,” he muttered.
Thomas pressed play on a recorder. Arthur’s voice filled the room.
“This is Arthur. I want to be clear—I didn’t choose Kylie because of her kindness. Years ago, before she ever brought me dinner, I saw her sitting on her front steps after her husband left her. Middle of the night. No lights on. Seven kids asleep inside.”
The room tightened. Claire frowned.
Arthur continued: “She sat there for a long time, as if trying to figure out how she would survive. I watched from my window. I didn’t see weakness. I saw someone who refused to quit. And I knew then—if I ever had to trust someone, it would be her.”
I remembered that night.
Arthur’s voice pressed on: “But I had to be sure. So I acted difficult on purpose. I wanted to see if she’d walk away. She didn’t. I knew she was worthy.”
Silence filled the room.
“My children planned to sell my house. I transferred ownership to Kylie months ago. But there’s a condition. She decides what becomes of it. She can sell it, split the money with my children, or keep it and turn it into something that serves the neighborhood.”
The recording clicked off.
Daniel stood. “This is ridiculous!”
