I sat in the lawyer’s office feeling like I did not belong there.
The chairs were too soft.
The air smelled faintly of old paper and expensive coffee.
Rain tapped quietly against the windows while a clock somewhere behind me ticked loud enough to make the silence feel deliberate.
Across from me sat Mrs. Rhode’s niece, Diane.
Every few seconds, she looked at me with thinly disguised disgust, like I was mud someone had tracked onto her polished floor. She wore pearl earrings, a cream-colored coat, and the kind of
expression wealthy people perfect after years of believing kindness is
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