The birthday lunch continued, but the atmosphere had changed; the joy that had been there was cut short by what happened on the porch. I sat next to Grandpa, not because anyone told me to, but because that’s where he always ended up. Even as a little girl, I was the one who stayed by his side, listening to his stories, learning practical things—how to change the oil, how to manage money—things that no one else bothered to teach me.
Across the table, Lucy, my younger sister, refused to look me in the eye. There was no remorse on her face. Only irritation.
After dessert, Grandpa asked me to help him study.
As soon as the door closed behind us, he sat down in his worn leather chair. The room smelled of tobacco and cedar, surrounded by old books and framed photographs, some of which no longer included me.
“She never asked,” she said quietly after a long silence.
—No —I replied—. He didn’t ask me either.
He tapped his cane gently on the ground. “That BMW… I chose it myself. It was for you. Not just a means of transport, but a statement of intent. You’ve worked since you were a teenager, you’ve never demanded anything. I wanted you to know that I noticed.”
I got a lump in my throat. “It was the first gift I received without any expectations.”
“I thought your mother understood,” he murmured.
“She understands what suits her,” I replied.
Then he looked at me, determination hardening behind his pale eyes. “Have you ever wondered why I haven’t finished my will?”
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