PART 2 — “Then Find Somewhere Else to Work”
My father stared at me as though I had just insulted him.
“Charlotte, Gregory is family.”
“So am I.”
Priscilla folded her arms.
“You’re making this unnecessarily difficult.”
I looked at her.
“My husband died three days ago.”
The room became quiet.
I continued.
“And somehow the biggest problem everyone has this morning is where Gregory will put his desk.”
Gregory cleared his throat.
“I didn’t mean to disrespect Tristan.”
“Then don’t take his room.”
His expression hardened.
“I need a quiet place to work.”
“So do I.”
My mother stepped between us.
“Enough. It’s Thanksgiving morning.”
I almost laughed.
Apparently Thanksgiving required peace.
But apparently my husband’s bedroom did not.
My father picked up his coffee.
“You’ve been emotional since Tristan died. We’re trying to keep this family together.”
I looked at him.
“By putting my belongings in a freezing garage?”
He sighed.
“You have the basement.”
“The basement has no bedroom.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
I slowly looked around the kitchen.
At the boxes.
At my mother’s worried expression.
At Priscilla’s smug face.
At Gregory standing beside the bedroom doorway.
Then I smiled.
“Okay.”
My father frowned.
“Okay?”
“Yes.”
Priscilla looked relieved.
“See? That wasn’t so difficult.”
I nodded.
“No. It wasn’t.”
Then I walked upstairs.
But I wasn’t going to the garage.
I went straight into my bedroom, closed the door, and locked it.
For the first time since Tristan’s funeral, I allowed myself to cry.
Not because they had hurt my feelings.
Because I knew something they didn’t.
The house wasn’t simply mine.
And Tristan had left behind something far more important than furniture.
PART 3 — The Envelope
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