“I want to talk when you’re ready. Not about the house. About us.”
He ended the call.
For a few seconds, he stared at the screen.
Then it lit up.
A message had arrived.
Not from his mother.
From Barbara.
Patrick, I’m sorry to contact you directly, but your mother left something with me in case you found George’s letter. She asked me to give it to you only after you read it. Can you come to my office this afternoon?
Patrick showed Megan the message.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Did she say?”
He shook his head.
Barbara sent another text before he could reply.
It concerns the deed and the promise your father wrote about. There is a document your mother never signed.
Patrick felt the familiar pull of uncertainty, but this time it was different.
For years, mystery had meant expectation. He had looked at the house and seen an answer waiting for him.
Now he looked at the message and felt something closer to caution.
“What document?” Megan asked.
Patrick read the text again.
“I don’t know.”
He typed a response.
I’ll come at two.
They loaded the first boxes into the car. Patrick carried the photograph carefully, keeping it on his lap during the drive.
At the hotel, their children ran to meet them. Their daughter hugged Megan around the waist, and their son showed Patrick a drawing he had made during breakfast.
It was a picture of a blue house beside a wide strip of water.
Patrick crouched beside him.
“That’s beautiful.”
“It’s Grandma’s house,” the boy said.
Patrick felt Megan watching him.
He did not tell his son the house belonged to someone else now. He did not tell him that adults sometimes confuse love with permission.
Instead, he said, “Grandma has a new home. Maybe you can draw that one next.”
“Does it have water?”
“It does.”
“Can we go?”
Patrick looked at Megan.
“Yes,” he said. “When Grandma is ready.”
An hour later, he drove alone to Barbara’s office.
