Chapter 8
The weekend dragged on like a slow-moving funeral. Ethan stayed out in the garage from dawn until dusk, barely stopping for meals, while Claire tended to Leo and stared at the blank walls of the living room. The distance between them had become a physical boundary that neither had the courage to cross. On Sunday evening, after Ethan had finally come inside and locked himself in the guest room, Claire went down to her father's old study to look for some forgotten tax documents she needed for the accountant. The room smelled of old leather, pipe tobacco, and peppermint—the exact scent of her childhood. She switched on the brass desk lamp, its green glass shade casting a warm, localized glow over the polished mahogany surface. She pulled open the bottom drawer, sorting through folders of receipts and utility bills from years past. As she reached into the very back corner of the drawer, her fingers brushed against a thick, textured envelope tucked behind a false wooden panel she had never noticed before. Her breath caught in her throat. The envelope was sealed with a heavy red wax stamp bearing her family crest. Written across the front in her father’s shaky, cursive handwriting were the words: For Claire Only. To be opened after the reading of the will. Her hands shook as she pulled the envelope free from its hiding place. She sat down in the heavy leather desk chair, her heart pounding against her ribs as if she were about to unearth a dark family secret. Using a silver letter opener, she sliced through the wax seal and slid out a folded sheet of heavy cream paper. The handwriting was jagged, written during the final months of her father’s illness when his hands shook from the medication. My dearest Claire, the letter began. If you are reading this, Arthur has executed my final instructions regarding the estate. I know what you must be thinking. I know you are angry with me for cutting Ethan out of the deed. Claire read the lines greedily, her eyes tearing up as her father’s voice echoed in her mind. Ethan is a good man, but he is proud. Too proud. I watched him closely over the years. I saw the way he looked at money, the way he carried the weight of his own father's failures. If I had left the house to both of you, Ethan would have used it as a crutch, or worse, as a weapon to prove his worth. I wanted to test him, Claire. I wanted to see if he loved you for the life you share, or for the land beneath your feet. Forgive an old man his cynicism. Look at what he does when he thinks he has lost everything. That will tell you everything you need to know about the man you married. Claire lowered the letter, the paper trembling in her grasp. The room felt suddenly airless. Her father hadn't cut Ethan out out of malice; he had done it as a deliberate, calculated test of character. And Ethan, in his blinding fury and wounded pride, was currently failing it.
