Returning home, I set the envelope on the kitchen table next to a pile of unopened mail. The afternoon sun streamed through the window, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch towards the unanswered questions. I picked up my phone, scrolling past the usual messages until I found my uncle’s number. He had always been the family historian, the keeper of stories and secrets.
The phone rang twice before he answered. « Hello? » His voice was gruff but familiar, a sound that had underscored many childhood memories.
« Uncle, it’s about the will, » I began, trying to keep my tone neutral. There was a pause, a moment where neither of us spoke, the silence filled with unspoken understandings.
« I heard, » he said finally. « I didn’t know they had changed it. I swear. »
« Who did? » I asked, my voice steady. He sighed, a sound that carried the weight of years.
« Your father and his lawyer. It was done quietly. I wish I had known, maybe I could have— »
« It’s not your fault, » I interrupted, though a part of me wished he could have done something. « I need to know why. Can you help me? »
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