“I’ve got it covered. Just… when you stop by later, let me know if there’s anything of his you’d like to keep.”

I thought the will would be straightforward—no surprises, no drama. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Later that day, I made my way to the nursing home to collect the few belongings Dad had left behind. A nurse handed me a worn cardboard box filled with the scent of antiseptic and old paperbacks.

His favorite sweater, the dog-eared Bible, a couple of mystery novels—ordinary things that carried extraordinary weight. My throat tightened as I traced my fingers along the familiar threads.

By the time I reached my car, I was crying silently, cradling that box like it still held him.

My phone buzzed with messages from Matt, but I didn’t answer. Sometimes