Still, seeing it there made my throat tighten.
My mother had worn that shawl on winter mornings while drinking tea by the kitchen window. She wrapped it around her shoulders when she sat beside me during thunderstorms. She carried it on long hospital visits and wore it while reading beside my grandmother’s bed.
But in that office, surrounded by relatives receiving houses and money, the shawl felt less like a gift and more like a message I could not understand.
Had my mother been disappointed in me?
Had I failed her without realizing it?
Had Lila been right?
I hated myself for wondering.
The lawyer pushed the box gently toward me.
“Your mother was very specific about this item.”
I looked up.
“What do you mean?”
“She stated that the shawl was to be transferred directly to you and that no other family member was to take possession of it.”
Lila rolled her eyes.
“How dramatic.”
The lawyer ignored her.
He asked me to sign a receipt acknowledging that I had received the shawl.
That seemed strange, but grief had left me exhausted. I signed where he pointed, tucked the box beneath my arm, and left the office without arguing.
As I passed Lila, she leaned close enough that only I could hear her.
