I slipped the document into my purse.

The next morning, when I showed it to Mom and mentioned the company name, she dismissed it with a wave.

“That business dissolved years ago,” she said. “Don’t waste your time digging into old paperwork.”

She sounded so certain that I almost believed her.

Almost.

But I kept the document.

Something told me to.

The funeral took place on a gray Thursday, the kind of November day that makes grief feel heavier. More than forty people filled Peterson and Sons Funeral Home—relatives, neighbors, and former colleagues from the construction company Dad had managed for twenty years.

Marcus delivered the eulogy in a Tom Ford suit that probably cost more than my monthly rent.

He spoke about Dad as though they had shared a deep and tender bond—fishing trips, meaningful talks, an unshakable father-son connection.

I sat in the back row listening to stories I had never heard before and wondering how many of them had actually happened.

The room was moved.

Women wiped at their eyes. Men nodded solemnly.

Marcus had always known how to perform.

Mom sat in the front row in black Chanel with her pearl necklace, receiving condolences with such composed sorrow it might have been admirable if I hadn’t known her better.

No one checked on me.

No one asked how I was holding up.

I was background.

The daughter who had been gone too long to count.

The real show began after the final prayer.

Most people were already collecting their coats when Marcus returned to the podium.

“If I could have everyone’s attention for just one more moment.”

The room quieted.

Mom gave him a small, practiced nod from the front row—the kind a director gives an actor who knows his lines.

“Our family has been discussing what comes next,” Marcus said. “And we’ve made a difficult decision. We’re selling the family home.”

Murmurs spread through the room.

My Aunt Patricia pressed a hand to her chest.
“The house on Maple?” she whispered. “Richard loved that house.”

“I know,” Marcus said, shaking his head with convincing sorrow. “But it’s time for a fresh start. Mom doesn’t want to live there alone with all those memories, and the upkeep is too much for her. We discussed it as a family. Mom, me, and Briana all agreed.”

I started to rise.