is what you were waiting for? Him to die so you could take everything?”
That accusation finally cut through my numbness.
For four months, I had driven from Boston to Connecticut every weekend while pancreatic cancer stripped the weight from Dad’s body.
I organized his medication, fought with insurers, and slept in hospital chairs.
Vivian visited, but she hated hospitals and rarely stayed long.
“I didn’t take anything from you,” I said. “Dad decided what belonged where.”
She laughed bitterly.
“And I’m supposed to believe you got nothing?”
I could
