THE DAY I INHERITED MY GRANDFATHER’S HOUSE—AND MY FAMILY TURNED ON ME

The next morning, I left early for Silas’s office. The law firm smelled of old books and lemon polish. Silas handed me a thick envelope with my name on it, written in Grandpa’s wobbly handwriting.

I opened it carefully. The letter inside was short but powerful: “My boy, this house saw all the good and bad of our family. I want you to have it so you always remember where you came from. If they try to make you give it up, know that I chose you for a reason.”

Tears blurred my vision. I didn’t want this burden, but I knew I had to honor his wish.

Over the next week, the tension with my family got worse. Mom stopped making me breakfast. My sister stopped replying to my texts. Her husband, Greer, who never liked me much, sent me a blunt message: “Man up. Give your sister the house.”

The day Silas filed the will in probate court, Mom called a family meeting. She sat at the head of the dining table like a queen. “Royston, last chance. Sign it over today, and we’ll forget all this unpleasantness.”

I stood up, my legs shaking. “No. Grandpa wanted me to have the house.”

Mom’s face twisted. “I can’t believe you’re turning your back on your family.”

Catriona started sobbing. Greer slammed his fist on the table. The kids, not understanding, just watched with wide eyes.

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