He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s a clause. A specific instruction that could… complicate things.”
“Complicate how?” I asked, trying to piece together the implications.
He took a slow breath, choosing his words carefully. “There’s a provision about the family home. It says it should go to the person who can maintain it. Financially, I mean.”
The room seemed to tilt slightly, the gravity of his words pressing down on me. “Maintain it?” I echoed, a knot forming in my stomach. “Do you think that’s fair?”
He shrugged, a small, resigned gesture. “It’s what’s written. Dad must have had his reasons.”
“And you’re okay with this?” I couldn’t mask the skepticism in my voice.
He hesitated, then nodded. “I think it’s what he thought was best. But… I wanted you to see it, to understand it fully before anyone else.”
“I appreciate that,” I said, even as my mind raced with the implications. The house was more than just property; it was memories, family history, roots.
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