Edward got more than his son.
“How is this fair?” Edward waved the will right under the solicitor’s nose. “The London flat goes to my brother-in-law, the cottage in the Cotswolds—him too! The Range Rover—him again! And me? His own flesh and blood! What do I get?”
“Mr. Edward Whitmore, please calm yourself,” the solicitor adjusted her glasses and gave him a stern look. “Your father had every right to distribute his estate as he saw fit.”
“But it’s not right!” Edward’s voice rose to a shriek. “Thomas married my sister five years ago, and he gets more than me! Where’s the justice in that?”
Thomas sat stiffly in the corner of the office, fists clenched. His face was pale, eyes red from lack of sleep. He said nothing, but his tense posture made it clear the scene was just as painful for him.
“Edward, stop shouting,” Emma—his sister and Thomas’s wife—said quietly but firmly. “Dad knew what he was doing.”
“Oh, shut it!” Edward snapped. “Your precious husband must’ve sweet-talked Dad while he was ill.”
Thomas stood abruptly.
“Say that again,” he said in a low, dangerous tone.
“I said you took advantage of an old, sick man!” Edward turned on him. “Acted all caring while eyeing up his money the whole time!”
“Edward!” Emma jumped up. “How dare you! Thomas looked after Dad day and night when he was in hospital—where were you? His own son!”
“I have a job! A family! I can’t just drop everything to play nursemaid!”
“And Thomas could?” Emma stepped closer. “Does he not have a job? A family? He used his leave for Dad, took unpaid time off, barely slept!”
The solicitor sighed and tapped her pen on the desk.
“Please, take your disputes elsewhere. The will is legally binding, signed in sound mind and with full awareness. Medical records confirm it.”
Edward snatched his copy and reread it furiously.
“Three-bedroom flat in Kensington—Thomas William Carter. Cottage in the Cotswolds—Thomas William Carter. Range Rover—Thomas William Carter.” His voice shook with rage. “And to Edward Whitmore—a bloody garage and garden tools. Garden tools! Spades and rakes!”
“And fifty thousand pounds,” the solicitor added. “Don’t forget that.”
“Fifty grand!” Edward let out a bitter laugh. “The flat’s worth two million, the cottage at least a million, the car’s nearly new. And I get fifty grand? Like pocket change!”
Thomas finally spoke.
“Edward, I never asked for any of it. When your father mentioned changing the will, I told him it should go to his children.”
“Oh, I bet you did!” Edward sneered.
“What did Dad say to that?” Emma asked her husband.
Thomas sighed.
“He said, ‘Edward’s my blood, but you’ve become more of a son. He only turns up when he needs money—you’re there just because you care.’ His words, not mine.”
Edward paled.
“He never said that.”
“He did,” Emma confirmed. “I heard him. Dad was upset you rarely visited.”
“I have a life! A job! Not all of us can lounge around with the elderly all day!”
“Nobody forced Thomas to be there,” Emma sat back down. “He did it because he loved Dad.”
Silence fell. The solicitor shuffled papers, clearly eager to be done with the unpleasant scene.
“I’ll contest this,” Edward said finally. “I’ll prove Dad wasn’t in his right mind.”
“Go ahead,” Thomas shrugged. “It’s your right.”
“Edward, think about this,” Emma pleaded. “Dad’s gone—are we really going to fight over money?”
“Easy for you to say!” Edward shot back. “Your husband’s minted now, while I’m left with nothing! I was counting on that flat—for the kids’ education, a bigger place—”
“And we weren’t?” Thomas moved to the window. “Do you think this is how I wanted things? To tear this family apart?”
“Then renounce it,” Edward challenged.
“No. It was your father’s last wish. I’ll respect that.”
Emma took Thomas’s hand.
“He was a smart man. He knew what he was doing.”
“Oh, he knew alright!” Edward exploded. “Knew he could slight his own son but not an outsider! Knew I’d just take it!”
“Maybe he knew more than that,” Emma said quietly.
“Meaning what?”
She hesitated, then met his eyes.
“Like how you borrowed twenty grand for a car three years ago—and never paid it back?”
“So what? A son can’t ask his father for help?”
“You promised to repay it in six months. Three years later, nothing.”
Edward flushed.
“I was going to! Things came up—”
“Or when you swore you’d fix his bathroom, took the money for materials, and vanished for a month?”
“I did it eventually!”
“After six months—and only when Dad threatened court!”
Thomas stayed silent, guilt creeping in.
“Emma, let’s not drag up the past,” he murmured.
“We should!” she shot back. “Remember when Dad called before his surgery? You said you’d ring back—but never did!”
“I forgot! Life happens!”
“And his birthday? His name day? When was the last time you visited without an agenda?”
Edward opened his mouth, but no words came.
“Thomas came every week. Helped around the house, shopped for him, took him to appointments—not because he had to, but because he wanted to!”
“Fine!” Edward waved a hand. “I’m the villain, he’s the saint. Got it. But I’m still contesting this!”
He grabbed his papers and stormed out.
“Edward, wait!” Emma called.
“What now?”
“We’re family. Let’s work this out. Thomas, tell him.”
Thomas turned from the window.
“I’ll compromise. Not legally—just between us. The cottage, we could share. Or sell and split the money.”
“And the flat?” Edward demanded.
“I can’t. Emma and I are renting—we need it.”
“Of course—keep the best for yourself.”
“Edward!” Emma snapped. “He’s trying, and you’re being childish!”
“I’m furious because an outsider got more than his own son!”
“Thomas isn’t an outsider! He’s my husband—Dad saw him as family!”
“As a substitute! I’m his real son!”
The solicitor cleared her throat.
“I’m afraid I must close for the day. The documents are ready—take them and leave.”
Edward snatched his copies and slammed the door. Emma wiped her eyes.
“That’s it—we’ve lost him.”
Thomas held her.
“Maybe he’ll calm down.”
“He won’t. He holds grudges.”
Outside, rain drizzled. Thomas raised an umbrella over Emma.
“Do you think he’s right?” he asked quietly. “Should I have refused?”
“No. Dad chose wisely. He saw who truly cared.”
“But Edward’s his son.”
“Blood doesn’t entitle you to anything. Love is earned.”
At the bus stop, Emma recalled her father’s last words:
“‘Look after Thomas. Men like him are rare. He’ll never betray you. Money and property—they’re not what matter.’”
Thomas swallowed hard.
“He was a good man.”
“And fair. He gave each of us what we deserved.”
At home, their son, Oliver, bounded over.
“Mum, Dad, did Grandpa really leave us the cottage?”
“Yes, love,” Thomas lifted him up.
“Why was Uncle Eddie shouting on the phone? I heard him tell Gran.”
Emma and Thomas exchanged glances.
“What did he say?” she asked.
“That Dad tricked Grandpa and stole Eddie’s flat. That he’ll sue us.”
“Oliver, go finish your homework,” Thomas said gently.
Later, Emma rang her mother.
“Mum, Eddie called you?”
“He did,” her mother sounded weary. “Ranted about being cheated, taking it to court.”
“And you said?”
“What could I say? Your father made his choice. He told me he was changing the will—he was upset with Edward.”
“He told you?”
“Of course. We were married thirty years. He said Eddie only remembered him when he needed something.”
“And Thomas?”
“‘He’s been more of a son than Edward ever was,’ he said. ‘I know Emma’s safe with him.’”
Thomas bowed his head.
Later, Emma turned to him.
“You earned his trust. When he was in hospital after the heart attack—who was there every day?”
“I was, but—”
“Who spoke to the doctors, arranged his care, bought his meds?”
“You make it sound heroic.”
“It was to Dad. Eddie visited twice. Twice! You took leave just to be there.”
Thomas remembered the endless hospital corridors, the fear in the old man’s eyes when he’d whispered, Thank you,Years later, as Oliver played in the garden of the cottage his grandfather had loved, Thomas realized that true inheritance wasn’t measured in property or pounds, but in the quiet moments of love and loyalty that outlasted even the bitterest disputes.
