Three years after our father’s death, my brother sold our childhood home to me in a rush and at a discount. But two days after the sale, I found out the house was damaged beyond repair, and he’d known all along. He betrayed my trust. Karma didn’t let him off so easily.
The day my brother and I buried Dad, the October sky mirrored my grief. It was gray, heavy, threatening to pour. Theo stood beside me at the graveside, his black suit pristine. I clutched a handful of dirt, my fingers trembling as I let it fall onto the mahogany casket below.
