….the folder was named “Estate Transfer.”
At first I thought it was just more of Leo’s pathetic attempts to scare us, but when I opened it, my stomach dropped. Inside were scanned copies of our mortgage papers, insurance documents, even drafts of power of attorney forms with my husband’s signature badly copied onto them.
And the appraiser messages weren’t about selling the house someday.
They were about how fast they could sell it after my husband died.
I actually had to sit down.
There were weeks of conversations between Leo and some investor I’d never heard of. Leo kept promising him the property would “be available soon” and that his father’s health was “declining faster than expected.”
I felt physically sick reading that sentence.
That’s when I heard the front door open again.
Leo walked back in like nothing happened, saw me holding the tablet, and immediately froze. For the first time since moving back home, the smug attitude vanished from his face.
He tried grabbing the tablet from me, but I pulled away and yelled louder than I ever have in my life,
“You were planning our funeral before we were even dead?”
He snapped back instantly, saying I was being dramatic and that he was “just preparing for the future.” Then he muttered something that made the whole room go cold.
“Well somebody has to think realistically because Dad won’t be around much longer.”
I slapped him.
Not hard enough to hurt him, but enough to shock both of us silent.
My husband came downstairs right then after hearing the yelling, pale and confused from his medication. Leo immediately switched tones and tried acting calm, like I was overreacting again, but I handed my husband the tablet without saying a word.
I watched his face change line by line as he read the messages from his own son.
And when he finally looked up at Leo, he didn’t even sound angry.
He sounded heartbroken.
He just quietly asked,
“How long have you been waiting for me to die?