“He is the man I love,” I said, my voice steady.
My father did not look at me. He looked at the portrait of his own grandfather hanging on the oak-paneled wall behind me.
“I have spent forty-two years preserving this family name,” my father said, his voice measured and dry. “I did not build this estate so that a driver could decide its future.”
“I do not want your estate, Arthur,” Liam said, his voice steady and reassuring. “I only want Sarah.”
“We have a lease on the Cedar Street apartment,” Liam added, looking directly at my father. “The bakery below smells of fresh yeast every morning, and the rent is only forty dollars a month. It is a good place to start.”
My father did not look up. He stared down at his water glass, which Grace had filled to the exact brim.
Liam did not shift in his seat. He had worked for my father for three years, driving him to the city office and back, and he knew the silence of the house better than anyone.
Miriam leaned forward, her fingers brushing the lace runner. “Arthur, think of your blood pressure. Sarah is simply excited. She hasn’t thought about what this means for her inheritance.”
She adjusted her gold watch again, the metal clicking against her wrist.
“Your father’s estate files are locked in my office,” Miriam said, her hushed tone sounding almost sweet. “We have the new trust documents ready for your signature next month, Sarah. Surely you want to remain a part of this family.”
I reached up and touched my mother’s pearl earrings again, the cold metal cornering me in my own seat. “My mother gave me these before she died. She did not ask me to buy my way into her family.”
