“The house,” the lawyer began, “goes to Charlotte.”
A disgusting sense of disbelief spread in me. It was what I expected, but it still felt like a blow to the pit of my stomach. I didn’t want to argue. Why too? But I secretly wondered why my father had done this to me.
Then the lawyer turned to me. “And to you, Dawn,” he said, handing me a small box. “Your father left this to you.”
My fingers were shaking when I opened them. It was Dad’s watch.
Worn out, scratched and barely ticking, it had hung on his wrist as long as I could remember. It was all I had left of him. I felt a lump in my throat that threatened to suffocate me. Charlotte snorted scornfully.
