Chapter 7 - The Gathering Around the Living Room TableI stood frozen on the porch for what felt like an eternity, the cold autumn wind whipping a stray lock of silver hair across my face. The manila envelope felt unnaturally heavy in my trembling hand. The red wax seal bore the imprint of an old-fashioned crest—a simple oak tree with deep roots.
“Mom?”
Maya’s voice broke through the haze. She and Leo had walked up behind me, sensing the sudden shift in the air, their faces etched with sudden anxiety.
“Who was that?” Leo asked, his eyes darting from the empty driveway to the thick envelope in my hand. “Mom, what’s wrong? You’re shaking.”
“Come inside,” I whispered, my voice sounding distant and hollow to my own ears. “Both of you. Call the others who haven't left yet—stay, call Samuel and Nora back inside.”
Within minutes, the core of our family—Maya, Leo, Samuel, and Nora, who had just been backing out of the driveway—were crowded around the living room coffee table. The room grew dead silent, save for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Everyone was staring at the envelope as if it were a ticking device.
My hands trembled violently as I broke the red wax seal. The wax crumbled away in small red flakes, like dried blood. I slid my fingers inside the thick paper opening and pulled out a stack of folded documents and a handwritten letter on heavy parchment paper.
May you like
The handwriting was unmistakably Robert’s, though the steady, hurried strokes of thirty years ago had been replaced by the shaky, trembling hand of an old, dying man.
I took a deep, shuddering breath, swallowed the lump in my throat, and began to read aloud to the children he had left behind.
