“They were all wrong,” Evelyn said.

I walked to the window and looked out at the wet lawn.

The rain was slowing down, leaving puddles on the gravel driveway.

“I want to see the rest of the house,” I said.

“Go,” Evelyn said. “It belongs to you now.”

Daniel picked up a small flashlight from his briefcase.

“I will come with you to check the rooms,” he said.

We walked out of the kitchen and back into the grand foyer.

The air was chilly, carrying the scent of dust and damp wool.

We climbed the curved wooden staircase, our footsteps echoing in the empty space.

On the second floor, the doors to the bedrooms stood open.

I walked into the master bedroom, which had once belonged to my parents.

On the dresser sat a silver-framed photograph of Arthur and Helen on their wedding day.

I picked up the frame, looking at my father’s stiff smile and my mother’s cold eyes.

I set the frame face down on the dusty wood.

“They left in a hurry,” Daniel observed, pointing to an open closet.