My father threw me out on my eighteenth birthday, stole the $3,000 I’d saved from working after school, and used it for my stepbrother. Nine days later, while I was digging through a restaurant dumpster for something to eat, a stranger in an expensive suit called my name and told me my supposedly dead grandfather had left me everything. But there was one condition nobody had warned me about.

I liked that.

I took a part-time job in Bellmere while finishing my final months of school online. The first paycheck felt different from the money in the trust. It was small, but it belonged entirely to the person I was becoming.

In spring, the orchard bloomed.

White flowers covered the trees, and bees moved through the branches in a soft, constant hum. I stood beneath the oldest tree with my mother’s photograph in my hand.

Richard had arranged for a memorial plaque to be placed near the pond, honoring James and Claire together.

My father came to the dedication.

He stood at a distance at first, unsure whether he was welcome. I walked over and invited him to sit.

We did not pretend everything was repaired.

He told me he had started counseling. He had arranged repayment of the money he owed and moved into a smaller apartment. My stepmother had left him, though they remained in contact while handling Tyler’s education.