Something about the handwriting…
I pulled out my phone and opened the photo of the will. I held the note beside it.
Same curvy “M,” same neat loops — at first. But the dateline in the will leaned too far right. The ink looked fresher.
And the words “to my grandson Martin”? They looked like they covered something else.
Something wasn’t right.
The next morning, Mr. Howard returned. I handed him the note. He compared it to the will.
“Three areas don’t match,” he said. “The date, the name, and a smudged word. This will was altered.”
Emily stood up so fast the chair squeaked. I looked straight at her. “You forged the will.”
She cried. “She wanted you to have everything. You were her angel. I was the spare”
I softened. “I’m sorry, Emily. But you crossed a line.”
She exploded. “Take your damn house! And your damn son’s name!”
The door slammed behind her. I sat back down, the sound ringing in my ears. The silence returned, but this time, it didn’t feel peaceful. It felt broken.
