Then Chloe whispered, “Austin, open it.”
His confidence finally broke.
Because the first page wasn’t a letter from me.
It was a copy of the document Ernest and I had signed while he still had enough strength to hold a pen—and enough clarity to realize our son was already circling the house as if his inheritance had been guaranteed.
Austin made a strange sound.
Not crying.
Not yet.
Just the sound of certainty leaving a man who had spent years believing his mother would never refuse him.
Then Chloe read
