It is worth more than this house.”
A white petal landed on the page.
For months, I had thought the trust, the deed, and the video were my father’s final gifts.
They were not.
His final gift was the knowledge that dignity did not require silence, and restraint did not mean surrender.
I folded the letter, picked up the pruning shears, and removed one dead branch from the nearest bush.
Beneath it, new growth had already begun.
