Read Chapter 14: — THE FAMILY VOTE

They met on Sunday in the old sitting room.

Arthur stated the plan plainly. He and Margaret would keep enough for housing and Arthur's project. The rest would be divided among Daniel, Eleanor and Jamie, with a little extra to Daniel because Oliver's education costs were high.

Caroline objected within thirty seconds.

“You're going to spend hundreds of thousands preserving amateur plays nobody watches?”

Arthur's face hardened.

“I am going to spend my money on something I believe matters.”

“You have grandchildren.”

“And adult children capable of earning.”

“Eleanor hasn't contributed to this house for years.”

Eleanor said quietly, “I don't need a share if it causes this.”

Arthur turned on her. “Don't perform nobility. You're my daughter.”

Caroline laughed without humour. “Exactly. Daughter. Married. Different household.”

“This isn't 1850,” Eleanor said.

Caroline's anger shifted toward Jamie.

“And if we're discussing fairness, perhaps we should discuss whether everybody in this room is actually—”

Daniel grabbed her arm.

“Stop.”

Too late.

Jamie stared.

“Actually what?”

Nobody answered.

Arthur stood so quickly his chair struck the wall.

“Enough.”

His voice shook with fury.

“Every child I raised is my child. If anybody thinks blood is a receipt that buys a larger share of my life, they can leave without a penny.”

The room went silent.

Outside afterward, Jamie tried to laugh.

“What was that about?”

Eleanor put an arm through his. “Caroline being Caroline.”

“You think?”

“Yes.”

She did not.

Inside, Arthur and Margaret sat together long after the others left.

They had always known the truth might surface one day.

Jamie was not Arthur's biological son.

His birth father had been Arthur's closest friend at the factory. Years ago, Arthur had swapped shifts with him so he could attend a performance rehearsal. An industrial accident killed the friend. His pregnant wife gave birth prematurely and later abandoned the baby under pressure from her family.

Arthur and Margaret adopted him quietly.

Arthur had spent decades carrying the irrational belief that if he had worked his own shift, Jamie's father would still be alive.

“I owe him,” Arthur said.

Margaret took his hand. “You raised his son. Love isn't repayment, Arthur.”

He looked toward the room where Jamie had once slept as a baby.

“No,” he said. “It became something else.”