“A Home Filled with Memories: My Father’s Last Gift”

The call came on a dull, gray afternoon.

“My father passed,” I told the lawyer. My voice sounded calm, almost practiced. We had never been close, and I was his only child. I expected a simple meeting—some paperwork, maybe a small account, nothing more.

So when the lawyer opened the folder and began reading, I listened politely… until one line made me sit up.

“As per your father’s wishes… the house is yours.”

I blinked.

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