The air inside was heavy and stale. Every step creaked loudly beneath her feet as she followed the hallway toward the light.
The half-open door led to a bedroom.
Emily stopped at the doorway.
The room was chaotic—piles of newspapers, dirty rags, and clutter everywhere. In the center stood an unmade bed.
On the bed lay an elderly woman.
She was painfully thin, her skin pale and bluish. Her eyes stared blankly upward while her breathing came in shallow, uneven breaths.
The smell in the room was overpowering.
And beside the bed sat a small table stacked high with empty packs of wet wipes.
Suddenly everything made sense.
Caleb wasn’t using them for himself.
He was using them to clean and care for this woman.
Emily stared at the fragile figure, filled with confusion and pity. Who was she? Why was she living like this?
Then she noticed something beneath a pile of magazines on the floor.
A thick envelope.
It was sealed with old wax, and written across the front in elegant handwriting were the words:
“Last Will and Testament of Margaret Hale.”
Beneath it was the name of a well-known lawyer in the city.
Emily’s mind raced.
Margaret Hale.