When my father divided our inheritance, my brother got the family home, and I was left with my grandpa’s cabin. My brother mocked me for it, saying I got nothing but memories and rot. I thought he was right — until I discovered what Grandpa had hidden beneath the floorboards.
The decision was made at the kitchen table.
Dad cleared his throat, hands folded. “I don’t want this tearing you two apart later, so we’re doing this now.”
Chris leaned back in his chair. “Doing what?”
“Splitting your inheritance early.”
There was a pause.
The decision was made at the kitchen table.
The kind that made my stomach knot.
“The house goes to you.” Dad nodded toward my brother. “You’ve got kids. You need the space.”
Chris didn’t argue. He just nodded once and smiled.
Then Dad turned to me. “And you’ll get your grandfather’s cabin.”
Dad nodded toward my brother.
I blinked. “The hunting shack?”
Dad hesitated. “You’re still studying. You don’t need much.”
Chris let out a short laugh.
“That place is falling apart.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but Dad added gently, “And besides, your grandfather would’ve wanted it that way.”
That silenced everyone.
Chris let out a short laugh.
The thing is, I didn’t know how to feel about it yet.
