The next few days passed slowly.
I spent most of my time in the apartment.
I wasn't ready to return to the routines Evelyn and I had shared.
Her side of the bed remained untouched.
Her cardigan stayed on the chair.
Sometimes I caught myself turning toward her when something happened.
Then I remembered.
She wasn't there.
On Thursday morning, Margaret called with an update.
"I've finished organizing the property records."
"All right."
"There are a few details I'd like to discuss with you in person."
"Can you email them?"
"I can, but I think it would be better to go through the documents together."
I agreed.
She also reminded me that any changes involving the property needed to be handled according to the company's governing documents and the applicable legal requirements.
I told her I understood.
I didn't want to rush.
I wanted every decision to be clear.
After the call, I made breakfast.
While the kettle heated, I heard the grandchildren laughing in the main house.
The younger one was calling for his schoolbag.
Melissa answered from somewhere upstairs.
For a moment, I considered walking over.
I wanted to see the children.
I wanted to ask about school.
But I didn't.
I was still too tired.
And I didn't want them caught in the middle of something they didn't understand.
Later that afternoon, I went outside to collect the mail.
There were several envelopes.
One was a property insurance notice.
Another was a maintenance statement.
I opened the first one.
The insurance premium had been paid.
The account was current.
I placed the paper in my folder.
Then I looked at the house.
The front garden was neatly trimmed.
The windows were clean.
The driveway had been washed recently.
It looked exactly as it always had.
Nothing about the building suggested that its ownership was different from what Brandon believed.
I remembered a dinner party Melissa had hosted the previous summer.
She had invited several friends.
They had admired the kitchen.
One woman had asked whether the family had renovated the property themselves.
Melissa had smiled.
"We've put a lot into this place."
I had been sitting at the far end of the table.
Evelyn had gently touched my hand beneath it.
She knew I had heard.
Later, when everyone had left, I asked her whether we should finally tell Brandon the truth.
She shook her head.
"Not yet."
"Why?"
"Because he still thinks he needs to prove something."
I had looked at her.
"To whom?"
"Everybody."
She had smiled sadly.
"He wants people to believe he's doing well."
I understood.
But now I wondered whether we had allowed that desire to become something unhealthy.
Evelyn had never wanted Brandon to feel ashamed.
She had only wanted him to grow into a responsible man.
I missed her judgment.
That evening, Melissa came to the apartment.
She knocked twice and entered after I answered.
"Robert, do you have a minute?"
"Yes."
She sat in the chair opposite me.
Her phone was in her hand.
She looked around the room before speaking.
"We wanted to make sure you're managing."
I nodded.
"I'm managing."
"Good."
She crossed one leg over the other.
"Brandon worries that you might be having trouble adjusting."
I looked at her.
"Adjusting to what?"
"Being alone."
I glanced at Evelyn's photograph on the shelf.
"I'm learning."
Melissa nodded.
Then she looked toward the kitchen.
"Have you thought about reducing some of your expenses?"
I wasn't sure what to say.
"What expenses?"
"Well, the household costs. Food. Electricity. Things like that."
I watched her carefully.
She seemed uncomfortable discussing it.
"Brandon said we shouldn't be responsible for your lifestyle anymore."
I took a breath.
"Melissa, I have never asked you to be responsible for my lifestyle."
She gave a small shrug.
"That's not how Brandon sees it."
I almost told her the truth.
I almost explained who paid for the house.
I almost showed her the insurance statements and property records.
But I stopped.
There was no reason to have that conversation while I was still grieving.
Instead, I said something simple.
"I'll take care of my own expenses."
She seemed satisfied.
"That's probably best."
She stood.
At the door, she turned back.
"Try not to worry about Brandon. He's under a lot of pressure."
I looked at her.
"So am I."
She didn't answer.
Then she left.
I sat in the chair for a long time.
The conversation had been polite.
There had been no shouting.
No accusations.
But it had made something very clear.
They had already started treating me as an expense that needed to be reduced.
I thought about the eighty thousand dollars.
I thought about the college savings.
I thought about all the years I had quietly made things easier for them.
Then I remembered Evelyn's words.
Don't let people mistake your kindness for weakness.
I stood and walked to the dresser.
Her letter was inside the folder.
I took it out.
The paper had begun to soften along the folds.
I read it again.
This time, I didn't cry.
I put it back carefully.
On Friday morning, Margaret called again.
She told me the review was ready.
She also said she wanted to discuss the property arrangements and my options.
I agreed to meet her the following day.
After ending the call, I looked around the apartment.
There were things I needed.
My clothes.
My personal documents.
My medications.
A few photographs.
I opened the closet.
My old suitcase was on the upper shelf.
I hadn't used it in years.
I pulled it down and placed it on the bed.
Then I stood looking at it.
I wasn't making a final decision yet.
I simply wanted to be prepared.
I folded a few shirts and put them beside it.
I added trousers and socks.
Then I closed the closet.
The suitcase remained open.
For the first time, I was considering a life that did not revolve around Brandon's household.
And the thought frightened me less than I expected.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: On Saturday Morning, I Made a Decision My Son Never Expected, and I Left Behind Everything He Thought He Controlled
My Son Chose the Hour After His Mother’s Burial to Tell Me I Was No Longer Worth Supporting
Part 7 of 20
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