Dad had trusted me with something far more valuable than property—his memories, his gratitude, and his legacy. That night, I returned home with the broken chessboard carefully wrapped in my arms. The anger I carried earlier felt distant, replaced by a quiet understanding.
Dad hadn’t overlooked me—he had chosen to speak to me in the way he knew I would understand. He believed I would uncover what was hidden, reflect on its meaning, and carry his lessons forward. The house he left to Lara was just walls and furniture, but the chessboard was a journey—a reminder of patience, strategy, love, and sacrifice.
