Caroline took the house.
She moved through it slowly, sorting memories, grieving in rooms where I had once imagined ownership. I stayed away unless she allowed me into the garage.
At first, she watched me like a guard.
I arrived every morning at seven. Left by six. Paid the utility share. Took custom orders. Built shelves, tables, benches, cabinets. I worked until my hands cracked and my back ached. At night, I rented a small room above an auto shop and ate cheap soup from cans.
It felt familiar.
But different.
This time, I was not waiting to be rescued.
I was building.
The scholarship fund Evelyn created helped me finish my carpentry certification. I tried not to use it at first, but Mr. Alden called me personally.
“She intended it for people like you,” he said.
“I don’t deserve it.”
“Evelyn disliked that word.”
So I accepted.
Not as a handout.
