I went to my estranged father’s funeral thinking it would give me closure, but my grandmother’s urgent warning sent me running to his house instead. My half-siblings had skipped the service entirely, and when I found them in his study, I realized what they were up to.
I hadn’t seen my father in years. He had abandoned my mother and me when I was a child, and every time I tried to reach out to him as I got older, I received nothing in return. Just silence.
I should have stopped caring about him, but it’s hard to let go of someone who was supposed to be your father. When I heard about his death, I didn’t know what to feel. Was I sad? Angry? Relieved? To be honest, it was probably all of those emotions at once.
When the funeral was scheduled, I felt like I had to go, even though I knew it would probably be better if I didn’t. I don’t know why. Maybe I wanted closure, or maybe I just wanted to see who would show up.
The chapel was quiet, only the organ playing softly, and the scent of lilies hit me like a wall—too sweet, too overwhelming. I fidgeted on the hard wooden bench, staring at the small program they had handed me at the door.
Robert Senior.
It was strange seeing his name written out like that, as if he were just an ordinary person and not the ghost who had haunted me for most of my life.
No one cried. No one even looked particularly sad. They just sat there, staring into the distance as if they were waiting for it to be over. My half-siblings, Robert Jr. and Barbara—whom I had only spoken to over the phone when they answered instead of my father—weren’t even there.
That was odd. You’d think the children he actually raised would show up, right?
Just as I was debating whether I should leave, a bony but strong hand grasped my arm. I flinched and turned to see my grandmother, Estelle. I had only seen her a handful of times over the years.
She would tell me stories about my father and his new family, and I listened only because she was the only one from that side who paid me any attention.
Her sharp eyes locked onto mine, her expression all business. She leaned in close, so close I could smell her perfume, and began to speak.
“Look around, child,” she whispered. “Haven’t you noticed? You shouldn’t be here. You need to go to his house. Right now.”
I blinked at her. “What? Grandma, what are you talking about?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she pressed something cold into my hand. I looked down. A key. My confusion must have been obvious because she gripped my arm tighter.
“Trust me,” she said firmly, her voice low. “Go. Quickly.”
Then she let go of me and straightened as if nothing had happened. I stared after her, stunned, as she disappeared back into the crowd.
For a moment, I considered staying. Maybe she was messing with me. Maybe she had lost her mind. But there was something in the way she looked at me that I couldn’t ignore.
I stood up.
Quietly, I slipped out of the chapel, gripping the key tightly in my hand. Outside, the sunlight felt too bright after being in that dark, suffocating room. I took a deep breath, got into my car, and drove to his house.
The two-story estate was even more impressive than I remembered. Fresh paint gleamed in the sunlight, and the garden was meticulously maintained. It looked like my father had truly loved this house. He certainly cared for it more than he had cared for raising me.
I parked in the newly paved driveway and stared at the front door. I shouldn’t be here. This used to be my home before he left us. At first, we stayed, but his lawyer quickly forced us out. It was a strange feeling to be back, but I had to find out what Grandma meant.
I walked up to the door, and the lock clicked softly. The hinges creaked as I pushed it open. Inside, it was silent. The air smelled fresh and clean, with a faint hint of something pleasant—lemon or lavender.
I walked through the living room. The old furniture I remembered had been replaced with newer, more stylish pieces, but there was a strange weight to the house, like it was holding its breath.
That’s when I heard the voices.
They were quiet, coming from somewhere down the hall. I froze, straining to listen. My father’s study. I still remembered it from when I was little. I was never allowed inside.
I crept closer, walking on my toes. Outside the door, I could hear them more clearly.
“This has to be it,” a man said.
I didn’t know his voice well, but it had to be Robert Jr.
“The deed, the account numbers,” he continued, sounding desperate. “We need to find them before she does.”
“You’re right. She can’t get them. Where would he have hidden them?” a woman snapped. That had to be Barbara.
My breath caught. Wait. Were they talking about me?
I nudged the door open slightly. Inside, I saw Robert standing at my father’s desk, holding a stack of papers. Barbara was on the floor, rifling through a pile of cash and documents from an open wall safe.
What were they doing?
“Well,” a quiet voice behind me said, making me jump, “your father’s suspicions were correct.”
I turned to see a man in a gray suit standing there. He looked calm, almost bored.
“Who are you?” I whispered, swallowing hard.
“Mr. Davis,” he said, holding up a brown folder. “The family’s attorney.”
Before I could say anything, the door burst open. I nearly stumbled inside. Barbara was there, her face twisted in rage as she saw us.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped.
Robert turned toward the door, his face going pale. “Emily? You shouldn’t be here!”
I opened my mouth to say something, but Mr. Davis spoke first.
“Actually, she has every right to be here,” he said calmly.
Barbara stared at him. “What are you talking about? Who are you?”
“Ask your grandmother,” Mr. Davis replied.
And then she appeared. Grandma Estelle walked past Mr. Davis and me, ignoring Barbara’s glare, and strode into the study with her head held high.
She glanced at the mess my half-siblings had made before her gaze landed on mine.
“Sweetheart,” she said gently, “I wanted you to see this. To see them for what they truly are.”
“I don’t understand,” I murmured, shaking my head.
“My son made many mistakes in his youth that he never admitted to, but I believe his illness finally made him see the truth. He wanted his estate divided between the three of you,” Grandma Estelle said, tilting her chin toward my half-siblings. “But I knew they would try to cheat you out of your share.”
Robert Jr. and Barbara exploded in outrage, but I shook my head. “Grandma, it doesn’t matter what they tried. I don’t want my father’s money. I didn’t even know him.”
“See?” Robert Jr. scoffed, looking between us. “She doesn’t want it, and she doesn’t deserve it. She wasn’t part of his life, so his estate belongs to us.”
Grandma Estelle’s gaze was icy. “That’s exactly what your father feared,” she said, glancing at Mr. Davis. “Please, read my son’s exact words.”
The lawyer lifted the folder and began to read.
“To my children: If you are hearing this, I am gone. I want my estate to be divided fairly. But as we discussed, if any of you try to claim more than your share, everything will go to Emily.”
Barbara gasped, and Robert Jr. shouted in protest, but Mr. Davis ignored them.
“Your actions today have triggered this clause,” he said simply. “Emily, everything now belongs to you.”
