The furniture hadn’t moved an inch. His old leather recliner still sat in the middle of the living room, threadbare and sagging. A dried cup ring still stained the side table. It was like stepping into a memory that hadn’t yet figured out it was over.
She set her bag down by the door and took a long breath. The will had been clear. The house was hers now, all of it. The land, the contents, the attic. Her name, written in careful block letters, as if her uncle had worried the lawyers might forget her otherwise.