Over the next two weeks I buried myself in paperwork — banks, utilities, insurers, every institution that needed notifying. The practical details gave me something solid to hold on to while I grieved.

The memorial drew far more people than I expected; Dad had spent thirty years building homes around town, and family after family he’d worked for came to pay their respects and share stories I’d never heard.

Scott and Amber stood beside me through the service, and we were kind to one another, balancing real grief against the fact that we also, now, shared an inheritance.

Twice during the reception Scott brought up the house.

The second time, Amber quietly touched his arm and he stopped.

That told me enough. So I invited them both to meet the following Saturday at Dad’s house. It felt like the only place the conversation belonged.