“Your father wanted to ensure… his legacy was protected,” he says, not meeting my eyes.
The word ‘legacy’ hangs in the air, an echo of something I can’t yet grasp.
My mother shifts in her seat, finally speaking up.
“He wanted you to have choices,” she says softly, her gaze fixed on the table.
Choices. The word feels heavy, loaded with possibilities and burdens I hadn’t anticipated.
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