I stared at him. “All of it?”
He nodded. “But it took me a while.”
That was an understatement.
I looked at the final page.
Three names.
The girls.
Everything had been transferred to them—cleanly, with no ties to the past.
I folded the papers slowly, then faced him.
“You don’t get to hand me this and think it makes up for almost two decades.”
“I don’t,” Edwin said.
He didn’t argue. He didn’t defend himself.
And somehow… that made it worse.
I stepped off the porch and walked a few feet away, needing space.
He didn’t follow.
Then I turned back.
“Why didn’t you trust me to stand with you? To help you?”
The question hung between us.
He looked at me and said nothing. That silence said more than any answer could.
I shook my head.
“You decided for all of us. You didn’t even give me a choice!”
“I know. I’m sorry, Sarah.”
His first apology.
I hated it. Part of me wanted him to argue—give me something to push against.
But he just stood there, taking it.
Behind me, the door opened.
One of the girls called my name. I turned instinctively. “Coming!”
Then back to him. “This isn’t over.”
He nodded. “I’ll be here. My number’s at the bottom of the letter.”
I didn’t reply. I just walked back inside, the envelope still in my hand.
And for the first time in fifteen years, I had no idea what came next.
I stood in the kitchen a moment longer than necessary after helping Dora with the oven. She insisted on baking cookies.
Her sisters were nearby—one scrolling on her phone, the other leaning against the fridge.
I set the envelope on the table.
“We need to talk,” I said.
All three looked up.
