I went to my estranged father’s funeral hoping for closure, but my grandmother’s sudden warning sent me running to his house instead. My half-siblings, Robert Jr. and Barbara, skipped the service, and when I found them rifling through his study, I knew something was wrong.
I hadn’t seen my father in years. He left my mom and me when I was a kid and never looked back. His death stirred up complicated feelings — anger, sadness, even relief.
The funeral was cold and empty. No tears, no warmth. Just silence and lilies. That’s when Grandma Estelle appeared, handed me a key, and whispered, “You shouldn’t be here. Go to his house.”
I left the chapel and drove to the house we were kicked out of years ago. It looked perfect — too perfect. Inside, everything was updated, polished… soulless. Then I heard voices. My half-siblings were tearing apart the study, searching for something.
Before I could react, a man in a gray suit appeared behind me — Mr. Davis, the family notary. Moments later, Estelle arrived, confirming my fears: Robert and Barbara were trying to cut me out of the will. But Dad had anticipated it.
Mr. Davis read from the will: If either of them tried to cheat, everything would go to me.
Chaos erupted, but then he handed me a letter. It was from my father.
In it, he apologized for abandoning me, confessed his fear and immaturity, and said he had followed my life from afar — proud of who I’d become. The house and money weren’t meant to fix anything, just to show he regretted everything.
I cried. Not for what I gained, but for the father I never got to know. Still, in those words, I found the closure I didn’t expect.
Now, I stood alone in his house — the past behind me, the truth finally clear.
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