“That thing?” she said, glancing at the faded brown coat folded on the table. “It’s practically falling apart.”
I swallowed the humiliation rising in my throat.
The lawyer cleared his throat. “Your grandmother specifically requested that the coat be given to you.”
Victoria laughed lightly. “Typical sentimental nonsense.”
I carried the coat home in my arms as if it were fragile. It still carried the faint scent of her lavender soap. When I put it on that night, it hung loosely around my shoulders, the lining slightly torn near the hem.
I collapsed in my tiny apartment, crying into the worn wool.
“I wasn’t charity,” I whispered into the empty room. “She loved me.”
That’s when I felt it.
A stiffness along the inner seam. Something thicker than fabric.
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