“I can’t believe this!” Edward waved the will right under the solicitor’s nose. “The London flat goes to my brother-in-law, the cottage in the Cotswolds to him, even the bloody Range Rover! And me? His own flesh and blood! What do I get? A garden shed and some rusty tools!”
“Edward, please calm down,” the solicitor adjusted her glasses, giving him a stern look. “Your father had every right to distribute his estate as he saw fit.”
“This isn’t right!” Edward’s voice cracked with anger. “Simon married my sister barely five years ago, and he walks away with everything? Where’s the justice in that?”
Simon sat stiffly in the corner of the office, fists clenched. His face was pale, eyes red from sleepless nights. He stayed silent, but his expression said it all—this was just as painful for him as it was for Edward.
“Edward, stop shouting,” Emily said firmly, her voice quiet but steady. She was Edward’s sister, Simon’s wife. “Dad knew what he was doing.”
“Oh, shut it!” Edward snapped. “I bet your husband sweet-talked him while he was ill!”
Simon shot to his feet.
“Say that again,” he warned, his tone icy.
“Go on, say it!” Edward turned on him. “You took advantage of an old man! Played the devoted son-in-law while eyeing up his money the whole time!”
“Edward!” Emily stood between them. “How dare you! Simon looked after Dad day and night when he was in hospital. Where were you? Too busy to even visit?”
“I was working! I’ve got a family, kids! I can’t just drop everything to play nurse!”
“And Simon could?” Emily stepped closer. “Hasn’t he got a job? A family? He used his holiday time for Dad, took sick leave, barely slept!”
The solicitor sighed, tapping her pen on the desk.
“Gentlemen, if you must argue, please take it outside. The will is legally binding, signed in sound mind. There are medical records to confirm it.”
Edward snatched his copy and scanned it again.
“Three-bedroom flat in Kensington—Simon Andrew Hart. Cotswold cottage—Simon Andrew Hart. Range Rover—Simon Andrew Hart.” His voice shook. “And Edward William Clarke gets a garden shed and some tools. Tools! A spade and a rake!”
“And fifty thousand pounds,” the solicitor added. “Don’t forget that.”
“Fifty grand!” Edward let out a bitter laugh. “That flat’s worth two million, the cottage at least a mil, the car’s nearly new. And I get fifty grand? Like some charity handout!”
Simon finally spoke up.
“Edward, I never asked your father for anything. When he told me he wanted to rewrite the will, I tried talking him out of it. Told him everything should go to you and Emily.”
“Oh, I’m sure you did!” Edward scoffed.
“What did Dad say to that?” Emily asked softly.
Simon exhaled.
“He said, ‘Simon, Edward’s my blood, but you’ve been more like a son. Edward only shows up when he needs money. You’re there just because you care.’ His words, not mine.”
Edward went pale.
“He never said that.”
“He did,” Emily confirmed. “I heard him. He was hurt you barely visited.”
“I had things to do! A job! Not all of us can drop everything to babysit the elderly!”
“Nobody forced Simon to step up,” Emily said, sitting back down. “He did it because he loved Dad.”
A tense silence fell. The solicitor shuffled paperwork, clearly eager to wrap things up.
“I’m contesting the will,” Edward said at last. “I’ll prove he wasn’t in his right mind.”
“Go ahead,” Simon shrugged. “It’s your right.”
“Edward, think about this,” Emily pleaded. “Dad’s gone. Are we really going to let money tear us apart?”
“Easy for you to say! Your husband’s rolling in it now! I was counting on that inheritance—I was going to sell it, get something bigger, pay for the kids’ schooling!”
“And you think we weren’t?” Simon walked to the window. “You think I wanted any of this? You think I’m happy we’re fighting?”
“Then give it up,” Edward challenged. “If it bothers you so much, walk away.”
“No,” Simon said firmly. “Because this was your father’s last wish. And I’ll respect that.”
Emily took her husband’s hand.
“He was a smart man. He knew what he was doing.”
“Oh, he knew alright,” Edward sneered. “Knew he could screw over his own son but not some outsider!”
“Or maybe,” Emily said quietly, “he knew something else.”
“Like what?”
She hesitated, then locked eyes with him.
“Maybe he remembered how you borrowed five grand from him three years ago for a car and never paid it back?”
“So what? Since when can’t a son ask his father for help?”
“You can. But you promised to return it in six months. It’s been three years.”
Edward’s face flushed.
“I was going to! Things just got tight—”
“Or how about when you took his money to redo his bathroom and vanished for a month?”
“I did it eventually!”
“After six months! And only because he threatened court!”
Simon stayed silent, watching uncomfortably. He hated this—but he couldn’t walk away.
“Emily, leave it,” he murmured.
“No,” her eyes shone with tears. “He needs to hear this. Remember when Dad called before his surgery, and you said you’d call back? You never did!”
“I forgot! Things happen!”
“And when was the last time you visited without needing something?”
Edward opened his mouth—then closed it. Emily wasn’t done.
“Simon came every week. Helped with shopping, took him to appointments. Not because he had to. Because he wanted to.”
“Fine!” Edward threw up his hands. “I’m the worst son, he’s the saint. Got it. But I’m still contesting the will!”
He grabbed his papers and stormed out.
“Edward, wait!” Emily called.
“What now?”
“Please. We’re family. Simon’s willing to compromise. Tell him, Simon.”
Simon turned from the window.
“Edward, I’ll split the cottage with you. Or we sell it, divide the money.”
“And the flat?”
“The flat’s non-negotiable. Emily and I are renting—we need a home.”
“Right. Keep the big prize for yourself.”
“Edward!” Emily snapped. “Simon’s offering something, and you’re still ungrateful!”
“I’m ungrateful because a stranger gets more than his own son!”
“Simon’s not a stranger! He’s my husband! He was like a son to Dad!”
“Like a son! I am his son!”
The solicitor finally spoke up.
“Gentlemen, my office is closing. The paperwork is settled. Take it elsewhere.”
Edward left, slamming the door. Emily burst into tears.
“Now we’ve lost him,” she sobbed.
Simon held her.
“Maybe he’ll cool off.”
“He won’t. He holds grudges.”
Outside, a light drizzle fell. Simon opened an umbrella, shielding Emily.
“Do you think he’s right?” he asked quietly. “Should I have refused the inheritance?”
“No. Dad made his choice. He saw who truly cared.”
“But Edward’s his son.”
“And? Being family doesn’t mean you’re entitled. You have to earn it.”
At the bus stop, Emily told him how her father had spoken of Simon in his final months.
“He kept saying, ‘You’ve got a good man, Em. A proper one.’ About Edward, he said, ‘I spoiled him. Thought love came with blood. But love’s something you earn.'”
The bus arrived, nearly empty. They sat at the back.
“You know what he told me before he died?” Emily whispered.
“What?”
“‘Take care of Simon. Men like him are rare. He’ll never let you down. Money, homes—none of that matters as much.'”
Simon swallowed hard.
“He was a good man.”
“The best. And he was fair. He gave everyone what they deserved.”
At home, their six-year-old, Oliver, ran to them.
“Mum, Dad, is Grandpa’s cottage really ours now?”
“Yes, mate,” Simon lifted him up.
“Why was Uncle Ed shouting on the phone? I heard him telling Grandma Margaret.”
Emily and Simon exchanged glances. Margaret was Edward and Emily’s mother, their father’s widow.
“What did he say?” Emily asked.
“That Dad tricked Grandpa and stole Uncle Ed’s flat. That he’s taking it to court.”
“Ollie, go finish your homework,” Simon said. “Mum and I need to talk.”
Once Oliver was gone, Emily called her mother.
“Mum, did Edward call you?”
“He did,” Margaret sighed. “Screaming about being cheated, contesting the willMargaret sighed again and said, “He’ll never understand that love isn’t about blood—it’s about who shows up when it matters, and your father knew exactly who that was.”
