My brother sold our boyhood house to me quickly and cheaply three years after our father’s death. Two days after the transaction, I discovered the home was irreparably damaged, and he knew. He broke my trust.
He was punished by Karma. When my brother and I buried Dad, the October sky reflected my anguish. Gray and gloomy, it threatened to rain.
Theo stood behind me at the graveyard in a clean black suit. My hands trembled as I dropped a handful of earth onto the mahogany coffin below. “He’s finally at peace,” I muttered, crying.
Theo nodded, checking his phone. Elton, our father, was my universe. Mom died when I was 12, leaving the three of us in that gorgeous two-story Craftsman home on Greenfork Street.
Dad worked extra shifts in the factory to feed us, and I stayed when Theo went to college. I painted Dad’s toenails when arthritis crippled him. I drove him to chemo.
I held his hand throughout those last, terrible weeks. The will reading was a week later. Dad’s lawyer, Mr.
Hargrove, cleared his throat and adjusted his spectacles. Our childhood house, where Dad taught me to ride a bike in the backyard and we carved pumpkins every Halloween, went to Theo. “But I thought—” I began.
“The house goes to Theo,” Mr. Hargrove reiterated. “Lila has a $3,000 savings account.”
Theo was expressionless.
No thankfulness, no surprise. Nothing. I was doing dishes when he cornered me in the kitchen that night.
I need you gone by Sunday.”
I froze my hands on plates. “What?”
“You heard me. Need room to ponder.
To understand.”
Yes, Theo, this is my home. I’ve been here 18 years. I took care of Dad…”
“And now he’s gone,” Theo snarled, his gray eyes flaring.
The home is mine. Now I set the rules.”
Moving out was like losing Dad again. I leased a small apartment above Mrs.
Nora’s bakery with flimsy walls and a noisy heater. But I planned. Dad always believed I inherited his resolve, and Theo was about to find out.
I worked mornings at the cafe, afternoons at the grocery store, and weekends cleaning offices. Every cent was saved. Every credit card payment was timely.
I survived on Mrs. Nora’s ramen and day-old cakes. Theo’s text three years later flashed up my shattered phone screen: “How about the house?
Sell it to you. 30% off, fast sale.”
I contacted him immediately after feeling cold. “Why now?”
I’m relocating to Denver.
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