I told myself I’d done what was fair, yet part of me always wondered if I could have handled it differently.

Then, out of the blue, she called. Her voice was quieter than I remembered, steady but heavy with emotion. She asked to meet, saying she had something important to give me. When she arrived, she looked older and fragile, but there was kindness in her eyes. She handed me an envelope and said, “I was angry for a long time, but your father wanted you to have this.” Inside was a letter written in my dad’s familiar handwriting — a message I had never seen. He thanked me for always looking out for him and wrote, “The house is yours, but I hope you’ll find peace with her someday.” Along