The next morning, I found myself in a café down the street, the document now resting on the table beside a steaming cup of coffee. I had read it multiple times, yet the words still seemed foreign. Jane had always been the executor of our parents’ estate, but this was different. The will had been altered, and not in my favor. I felt a quiet rage bubbling beneath the surface, but also a deep sadness.
“Is everything alright, sir?” the barista asked, momentarily breaking my contemplation. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. My phone buzzed with a text from Jane: “We need to talk.”
I replied, “Meet me at the café.”
She arrived twenty minutes later, her expression unreadable. She slid into the seat across from me, her eyes fixed on the document. “I didn’t know how else to tell you,” she said.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “Why wait until now?”
“It’s complicated,” she replied, her gaze finally meeting mine. “Things have changed, and I had to make some difficult decisions.”
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