That surprised me.
She wrote that Daniel, Marcus, Leah, and Ethan had each built lives of their own.
She loved them.
But over the years, she had learned that inheritance often turns affection into accounting.
Then she wrote about me.
Not twelve years of bathing.
Not medicine.
Not sacrifice.
One memory.
The night I told her I was tired.
You were the only person who ever told me caring for me was difficult and then came back the next morning anyway.
I started crying.
Margaret wrote:
That was when I knew your care was honest.
Then:
The land is not payment for washing me or feeding me. No person should have to earn love through exhaustion. I am leaving it to you because I trust what you will do when something valuable is placed in your hands.
I covered my face.
Gideon waited.
Finally I asked:
“What did she expect me to do?”
