“She spent it on pills,” Terrence muttered around a mouthful of food he hadn’t bothered to bless.
“Well, at least that expense is gone now.” Tiffany let out a small, cruel laugh. “That’s five hundred a month back in our pockets.”
My heart stopped beating. Then it started again with a slow, heavy rhythm built entirely of rage.
My wife wasn’t even in the ground an hour, and they were celebrating the savings on her medication.
I looked down at my trembling hands—trembling not from age but from the urge to use them as weapons.
The room gradually emptied as neighbors offered condolences. I nodded and thanked them, but my eyes tracked my son as he paced near the exit, checking his watch every thirty seconds.
Finally, when the last guest departed, Terrence approached me. He didn’t ask how I was managing. Didn’t offer to drive me home. He stood over me, blocking the light.
“Dad,” he said, voice flat and emotionless. “Where is the key to Mom’s safe?”
I looked up slowly, studying the bags under his eyes, the nervous twitch in his cheek. This was my boy—the child I’d taught to fish in muddy Texas creeks, the infant Esther had rocked to sleep while I served overseas.
Now he looked at me like an ATM that had malfunctioned.
“What did you say?” My voice came out raspy.
“The safe key.” He spoke louder this time. “Tiffany says Mom had life insurance. We need to check the paperwork. We’re entitled to fifty percent as next of kin.”
Tiffany stepped beside him, crossing her arms. “We need to start probate immediately. Funerals are expensive, Booker, and we have bills. We know Esther hoarded cash in the house.”
I stood slowly, my stiff knees protesting. I leaned on my cane and met their eyes. Even bent with age, I still towered over Tiffany at six feet two inches.
“Your mother is not even cold yet,” I said, my voice low and dangerous, “and you’re asking for money.”
“It’s not about money. It’s about asset management,” Terrence snapped. “Don’t be difficult, Dad. We know you don’t understand finances. You just worked in a warehouse. Mom handled everything. We’re trying to help.”
“Help?” I scoffed. “You’re trying to scavenge. There is no money for you. Not today.”
Terrence stepped closer, invading my space, his eyes wild with something that looked like desperation mixed with fury. “Listen to me, old man. You don’t know what’s going on. This house is in trouble. We are in trouble. If we don’t find that money by the end of the week, things are going to get very bad.”
“What kind of bad?” I asked.
“The kind where you end up on the street.” He spat the words. “Now give me the key or I’ll turn this house upside down until I find it myself.”
He reached for my pocket.
I slapped his hand away with speed that surprised us both.
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