For nine years, I brought food, medicine, and groceries to the stubborn old man next door, never thinking I was doing anything special. After his funeral, I received a letter that sent me to my basement freezer, where Lawrence had left proof that he had been noticing me too.
The lawyer found me near the coffee urn after Lawrence’s funeral, while I was gripping a paper cup I hadn’t taken one sip from.
“Julie?” he asked gently.
I nodded.
He held out a sealed envelope with my name on it. “Lawrence asked me to give this to you after the service.”
Before I could take it, Peter stepped closer.
The lawyer found me near the coffee urn.
Peter was Lawrence’s estranged son, the one Lawrence had spent years pretending not to wait for.
“What’s that?” he asked.
