“Bradley,” Mr. Thompson said quietly.

My son paused with one hand on the doorframe. “You should probably pack, Dad.”

I looked up. He smiled again. “I’m putting the house on the market next week.”

For a second I thought grief had distorted what I heard. “This is my home too.”

“Not according to the will.” His voice stayed light, almost cheerful. “Mom left the house and everything else that matters to me. You’ve got your beach cabin.”

“Your mother would not want you to force me out.”