“A developer approached you about my property?”
“They’re buying parcels all over the county. New homes, vacation rentals, maybe some commercial space. This land could be worth a lot to them.”
I studied his face, trying to understand where the conversation was coming from.
“Michael, I’m not interested in selling.”
“You haven’t even heard what they might offer.”
“I don’t need to hear it.”
He frowned.
“Dad, you should at least consider it.”
“This was your mother’s home,” I said. “This is where she wanted to stay. This is where I intend to stay. I’m not going anywhere.”
Michael did not argue that day.
He simply nodded, took a drink of coffee, and changed the subject.
But there was something in his eyes that unsettled me. It was not concern. It was not disappointment, either.
It was calculation.
A father learns to read his children long before they learn to speak. Even when they grow into adults, some part of that instinct remains. Sitting across from Michael that afternoon, I felt that instinct whispering a warning I did not yet understand.
