“Elaine,” my father said, his voice rougher than I remembered. “Look at you, all grown up.”

They moved toward me, and I found myself rising on unsteady legs. My mother reached for an embrace that I could not return. I stood stiffly as her arms encircled me, the scent of her perfume both familiar and alien.

“We have been trying to find you,” my mother said, stepping back to examine me. “You look so much like your aunt now. So sophisticated.”

“How did you know about today?” I managed to ask, my voice sounding strange to my own ears.

“We saw the obituary in the newspaper,” my father explained, attempting a sad smile. “We have been keeping tabs on the family from afar. We knew you were with Vivien.”

Of course. Of course they knew where I was all these years and never once reached out. The room seemed to tilt slightly.

“Please sit down,” Thompson interjected, gesturing to the chairs. “We have one more person joining us before we begin.”

An older woman I recognized as Vivien’s housekeeper, Mrs. Bentley, entered the room. She had worked for Aunt Vivien for over twenty years and had been kind to me in her reserved way. She nodded at me sympathetically before taking a seat near the window as far from my parents as possible.

As we waited for Thompson to begin, my parents attempted small talk that felt surreal.

“We live in Arizona now,” my mother offered. “The climate is better for your father’s arthritis.”

“I manage a convenience store,” my father added. “Nothing fancy, but it pays the bills.”

I nodded mechanically, unable to formulate responses. Inside, my emotions churned violently. Anger, confusion, hurt, and a treacherous flicker of longing all battled for dominance.

Thompson cleared his throat and opened a thick folder. “We are here to execute the last will and testament of Vivien Eleanor Hughes,” he began formally. “I will summarize the key provisions before providing copies to the relevant parties.”