The Second Will Chapter 12
A month later.
I moved into the space above the shops on Independence Boulevard.
There was a small attic there, previously used for storage.
I cleared it out and put in a bed, desk, and a small fridge.
It wasn’t big.
But it was mine.
Both shops were rented out.
One for eighteen thousand a month.
The other for thirteen thousand a month.
Added together, thirty-one thousand.
More than three times my previous salary.
My lower back still wasn’t great.
I went to the hospital, and the doctor said it was a herniated disc.
“It’s not common at your age. How did this happen?”
“Carrying a person for three years.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I slowly started looking for a new job.
No rush.
I needed to nurse my health back first.
I heard Robert was having a hard time.
The mortgage on that house was sixteen thousand a month.
His company wasn’t doing well this year.
My sister-in-law sent several messages in the Family WhatsApp Group, saying, “Can any of you help us?”
No one replied.
I heard she posted the chat screenshots on Instagram.
Someone in the comments said: “How did you treat Julian back then?”
She deleted that Instagram post.
I also heard Eleanor’s savings ran out quickly.
Four hundred and twenty-eight thousand six hundred; after taxes and fees, she actually got less than four hundred thousand.
She went to a lawyer to ask if it could be redistributed.
The lawyer said: A signed will cannot be changed.
She called me.
“Julian, can you lend me some money?”
I asked, “How much?”
“Fif… fifty thousand?”
I thought about it.
“Eleanor, when you gave me those two thousand bucks back then, you said something. Do you remember?”
She fell silent.
“You said, ‘Thanks for your hard work.’”
“Two thousand bucks. Three years. Thanks for your hard work.”
“I’m returning those words to you.”
I said.
“Thanks for your hard work, Eleanor.”
The call ended.
I didn’t lend it to her.
Sunlight shone outside the window.
Spilling into the small attic.
Dad’s photo sat on the desk.
It was taken before his stroke.
He was smiling so happily.
Next to it lay that letter.
I had read the last line of the letter many times.
I cried every time.
But every time, I felt –
It was worth it.
The letter read:
“Julian, you are Dad’s greatest pride in this life.”
“Not because you took care of me.”
“It is because you are a good man.”
I wiped the photo.
Placed it back on the table.
Then –
Continued eating breakfast.
The sun was beautiful today.
