Before I left, I noticed something resting in his hand. An old, worn photo of two kids standing beside him, all three of them smiling. His children, decades younger. I didn’t ask about it. I just said goodbye and walked out, already telling myself, okay, I did my part.
A few weeks later, he passed away.
The Will Reading
The funeral was small and quiet. Not many tears in the room.
Then came the will reading. His kids sat across from me, well dressed, composed, and I could tell they were already quietly calculating numbers in their heads before the lawyer even opened his folder.
He cleared his throat and began. Forty thousand dollars, split four ways between his children. They nodded, satisfied. No surprises there.
Then he paused and looked up at me. “And to his nephew…”
I straightened slightly in my chair.
“…he leaves his coat.”
A moment of silence hung in the room. Then his son actually laughed. A real, loud, amused laugh. “Classic Dad,” he said, shaking his head. “Final prank. Enjoy the stinky coat.”
A couple of the others smirked along with him. One of them didn’t even bother hiding it behind a hand.
