The following Monday, we arranged to meet our father at his favorite diner. The place was familiar, a staple of our childhood, filled with the clatter of dishes and the aroma of fresh coffee.
He arrived late, as usual, his demeanor as unruffled as ever. “What’s all this about?” he asked, a benign smile on his face as he slid into the booth.
“We found the new will,” I said, cutting straight to the point.
His expression shifted slightly, but he maintained his composure. “Ah, yes, I meant to discuss that with you,” he replied, reaching for his coffee cup.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Emily asked, her voice laced with a mix of hurt and confusion.
“I had my reasons,” he said, his tone suggesting the discussion was closed.
We pressed on, but his answers were vague, evasive. The conversation felt like walking through a fog, each step forward revealing nothing but more obscurity.
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