She laughed softly, ignoring my children who were playing in the barn as if they were tenants of her future house by the lake. “This was my father’s house.”
“Developers would fight to get it.”
The night before the funeral, she took me aside in the kitchen while I was doing the dishes.
“Let’s not drag things out,” she said, smiling as if it were charity. “You have three days.”
I blinked. “Three days for what?”
“To pack your bags. I’ve already found a developer. The groundbreaking ceremony starts next week. It’s just business.”
Three days.
My mind raced. Every dollar I had went towards keeping this farm afloat after the failed harvest. I had no savings and no family nearby. I didn’t even have a backup plan.
“You have three days.”
“You can’t just throw us out like that,” I said.
My aunt tilted her head. “I’m her only child. Once the will is read, it’s mine. Actually, I’m trying to give you a head start.”
My chest tightened.
She walked away humming.
We remained polite during the funeral, but the real truth was about to come out.
***
The reading of the will was scheduled for two days after the funeral at Mr. Henderson’s office downtown. He had been Grandfather’s lawyer for a long time.
“You can’t just throw us out like that.”
Aunt Linda arrived ten minutes late, dressed in black but radiant, as if she had already won. She sat opposite me and slid a folded document across the polished desk between us.
“I’m just removing the inconvenience of the road,” she said.
I unfolded it.
An eviction notice dated that very morning.
My vision became blurred.
Mr. Henderson didn’t even look at the paper. He calmly adjusted his glasses, clasped his hands, looked at her, and said, “Actually, we won’t be discussing the property today.”
My vision became blurred.
My aunt burst out laughing. “I’m her only child. It’s mine. Read it.”
The lawyer took a stamped document out of a manila paper folder and carefully placed it on the desk.
“Three days ago,” he said evenly, “your father no longer owned the farm.”
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