She Threatened My Father’s Roses, Then His Final Letter Appeared

Tabitha had chosen her timing carefully. The will reading was scheduled for the next morning, and she wanted me unsettled before I walked into Ms. Penelope’s office. That was her style. She liked people embarrassed, cornered, and too emotionally tired to notice the details.

She stepped closer in the garden, her heels sinking into damp soil. “Calvin and I thought it would be kinder to have this conversation privately.”

“You came to my father’s garden to tell me to leave my father’s house,” I said. “That isn’t kindness.”

“Your father’s estate,” she corrected. “And Calvin was like a son to him for many years.”

I almost laughed. “You mean the son who cheated on his wife with his assistant?”

“Oh, please. Ancient history.” She waved one manicured hand. “Everett forgave him. They kept going to the club together every Sunday until the very end.”

The very end.

The words felt rehearsed.

“My father didn’t leave Calvin anything,” I said. “He had flaws, but he wasn’t a fool.”

For the first time, Tabitha’s expression flickered.

“We’ll see tomorrow,” she said. “Kyle doesn’t think so.”

My fingers tightened around the pruning shears.

“You’ve been talking to my brother?”

She tilted her head with fake innocence. “Kyle helped us understand your father’s state of mind during his last few months.”

There it was.

Not just Calvin. Not just Tabitha. Kyle.

My brother had been drifting away from me since Dad’s diagnosis, taking calls outside hospital rooms, avoiding my eyes when I asked about papers, and insisting Dad was “too tired” whenever I wanted to sit with him alone. I had mistaken distance for grief.

Maybe it had been strategy.

“Get out of my house, Tabitha,” I said. “Before I forget my manners.”

She laughed. “Your house? That’s adorable.”