“Mom.”
My voice was low, but it stopped her mid-breath. I took a half-step back, creating a physical boundary between us in the crowded hallway of the funeral home.
“Did you really just say that to me? We haven’t even lowered him into the ground yet.”
My mother straightened her black dress, looking more annoyed than ashamed. “I’m being practical, David. Grief is fine, but life goes on. Your sister, Sarah, is drowning in rent. Her husband’s job is unstable. You? You’re twenty-six, you have a good degree, no attachments. You can get a mortgage anywhere. This house is a lifeline for her.”
“It’s not just a house, Mom,” I said, my hands trembling slightly—not from sadness anymore, but from a rising heat in my chest. “It was Grandpa’s home. And for the last three years, it was my home too because I was the one living there. I was the one changing his sheets, cooking his meals, and driving him to chemotherapy while you and Sarah visited once a month for twenty minutes.”
“That’s not fair!” she hissed, glancing around to ensure the guests were still distracted by the buffet. “Sarah has children! She couldn’t just drop everything. You had the time.”
“I made the time,” I corrected her. “I put my career on hold. I didn’t date. I barely saw my friends. I did it because I loved him. And he left the house to me because he knew I gave up everything to be there for him when he was scared and alone. He told me explicitly, ‘David, I want you to have a start in life that I never gave your father.’”
She scoffed, crossing her arms. “He was on heavy medication. He wasn’t thinking clearly. If he knew Sarah’s situation now—”
“He knew,” I cut in. “We talked about everything. He knew Sarah just bought a new car she couldn’t afford. He knew you were pushing him to sell the place two years ago to put him in a home. He claimed this house was the only thing he had left to give to the person who actually stood by him.”
My mother’s face turned a sharp shade of crimson. “So that’s it? You’re going to let your nieces and nephews suffer because you want a bachelor pad? You’re going to be that selfish?”
I looked at her—really looked at her—and realized that she didn’t see me as her son right now. She saw me as an asset to be liquidated for the sake of her favorite child.
“I’m not signing anything, Mom,” I said, my voice steady and final. “The house is mine. I’m going to live in it. I’m going to fix the porch Grandpa and I talked about repairing. If Sarah needs help, she can ask me herself, and I’ll see what I can do within reason. But I am not handing over my inheritance because you think I don’t deserve it.”
“If you do this,” she threatened, pointing a manicured finger at my chest, “don’t expect us at Thanksgiving.”
I looked over her shoulder at the open casket in the other room, then back at her.
“Mom, after today, I think I’m going to need a long break anyway. Take care of yourself.”
I walked past her, leaving her standing alone in the hallway. I went back into the viewing room and sat in the front row. For the first time all day, the knot in my stomach loosened. I wasn’t just keeping a house; I was keeping a promise. And as I looked at my grandfather one last time, I knew he would have been proud that I finally stood up for myself.
The End.
