“The estate,” Melissa clarified, scrolling through her phone. “The house, the business. Brandon and I need to figure out the next steps.”
I’d expected grief from my children—maybe some reminiscing about their father. What I got instead was a boardroom meeting. Brandon opened his laptop on the dining table where we’d celebrated birthdays, graduations, and departures.
“Dad spoke to me about this last year,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “He was worried about you managing a loan. The business needs modernization, investment. The house is too much for someone your age.”
“My age,” I repeated, the words tasting bitter. “I’ve managed this orchard alongside your father for forty years.”
“And you’ve done wonderfully,” Melissa said in the same voice she used when selling overpriced vitamins to desperate women. “But it’s time to think about your future, Mom. A retirement community would give you friends. Activities.”
“I have friends,” I said. “I have activities.” My voice sounded distant even to my own ears. “This is my home.”
