“Your mother is gone. Tears won’t bring her back—so wipe your face, make dinner, and don’t look like a grieving child when my guests arrive.” That was what my husband said.

Mr. Harrison nodded understandingly. He once again took a folder from his secretar’s briefcase. This one dark blue, different from the one with the will. Mr. Harrison tossed the folder onto the table in front of Mark. The folder slid smoothly and stopped right in front of a panting mark. Mr. Harrison ordered Mark to open the folder and read it carefully before daring to kick out the rightful owner.

Mark’s hands trembled violently as he took the folder. He opened it abruptly, nearly tearing the papers inside. His eyes scanned the written lines. It was the property deed for the land and building of this house, and on it the name of the legal owner was clearly listed. Eleanor Vance. My mother’s name, not Mark. Mark’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open in disbelief. He flipped through the pages of the deed, searching for his name, for any proof of his ownership, but it was in vain. His name appeared nowhere. I stepped forward and approached Mark. My voice was calm, but it cut into his conscience. I explained the truth my mother had hidden all this time to protect her son-in-law’s pride.