Dad was staring at the floor.
“Did you know about the will?” I asked Chase directly.
He didn’t answer right away, which was an answer.
“Chase, did you know?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I knew. Dad and I talked about it.”
“When?”
“Last summer, before it was finalized.”
“And you didn’t think to bring it up with me?”
“It wasn’t my place.”
“It wasn’t your place,” I repeated. “But it was your place to take the money.”
Mom leaned forward.
“Austin, your father and I made that decision for practical reasons. Chase agreed to be our primary caretaker when the time comes. That’s a significant commitment, and we felt it was fair to reflect that in the estate plan.”
I nodded slowly.
“Okay. So let me ask you something, Mom. In the last eight months, how many times has Chase come over to help with the house?”
Silence.
“How many times has Chase driven down from Franklin to help Dad prepare for surgery, to clean the gutters, to fix the bathroom faucet, to do any of the things I used to do for free every single week without being asked and without being included in any estate plan?”
Mom’s chin started trembling.
Dad was still staring at the floor.
Chase shifted his weight.
“I’ll answer for you,” I said. “Based on what I’ve heard, and I’ve heard plenty, Chase has been over here maybe three times since September. Three times in eight months, and two of those were holidays he had to show up to anyway.”
Chase’s face went red.
“I’ve been going through a tough time. I lost my job. Tiffany and I are dealing with…”
“I didn’t ask about your problems, Chase. I asked about your promise. $740,000 in exchange for taking care of Mom and Dad. The down payment, the cruise. And now that the obligation is real, you’re too busy.”
The room went dead quiet.
The faucet in the kitchen was still dripping.
Nobody had fixed it.
I turned to my dad.
He still hadn’t looked up.
“Dad, look at me.”
He looked up.
His eyes were wet.
I don’t think I’d ever seen my father’s eyes wet before.
Not at funerals.
Not at weddings.
Not ever.
“Why?” I said. “Forget the estate plan. Forget the money. Just tell me why. Why was it always Chase? Why was I the afterthought? What did I do?”
Dad’s mouth opened and closed.
He looked like a man who’d been carrying something for 30 years and had just realized he couldn’t hold it anymore.
“You didn’t do anything,” he said.
His voice was rough.
“You were always so capable, Austin. You figured things out on your own. You didn’t need us the way Chase did. And somewhere along the way, your mother and I confused not needing us with not wanting us. We leaned toward the one who seemed to need us more.”
“That’s not fair,” I said. “I know I needed you. I just showed it differently. I showed it by coming over here every week, by calling Mom every Sunday. By showing up to every holiday, even though I felt invisible. That was me trying. And you didn’t see it.”
Mom was fully crying now.
Not the performative crying from eight months ago.
Real crying.
Dad wiped his eyes.
“I see it now.”
“Then I need you to say it out loud. That what you did was wrong.”
He took a shaky breath.
“What we did was wrong. The will was wrong. The way we treated you, all of it was wrong. And I’m sorry, Austin. I’m sorry I made you feel like you mattered less.”
Mom managed, “I’m so sorry. I was afraid to bring it up because I thought you’d never forgive us.”
“I’m not interested in never forgiving you,” I said. “I’m interested in you doing something about it.”
I turned to Chase.
He looked smaller somehow.
Not physically, just in the way a person looks when the narrative they’ve been living inside suddenly doesn’t fit anymore.
“You took the deal,” I said. “You knew they were cutting me out, and you didn’t say a word.”
“I didn’t think…”
“Don’t say it wasn’t your place. You’re my brother. It was absolutely your place.”