“Do not speak of Harold that way,” I said.

“And do not use your father’s memory as a weapon against me.”

I reached out and touched the smooth brass of the cabinet handle.

“Thomas spent his entire life building things up,” I said.

“He built businesses, he built this home, he built a life of kindness.”

I looked directly into my son’s eyes.

“You are trying to tear it all down,” I said.

“You want to sell the land, lock the doors, and keep me in the dark.”

“I am protecting you!” David yelled, his fists clenching at his sides.

“No,” I said softly.

“You are trying to control me because you are afraid.”

“I am not afraid,” David said, though his chest was heaving.

“You are,” I said.

“You think that if nothing changes, your father isn’t really gone.”

“But he is gone, David,” I said, the words hurting my own throat as I spoke them.

“He is gone, and we are still here.”

“I will not let you do this,” David whispered, his voice trembling now.

“I will go to the lawyers tomorrow.”