I hadn’t come because of nostalgia.
And I certainly hadn’t come because I missed anyone in that room.
I came because the message I received three days earlier had left a knot in my stomach:
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I was summoned to my ex-husband’s father’s will reading a year after our divorce—and when the attorney opened the file, he looked straight at me instead of the family and said, “Ms. Rowan, I’m glad you’re here.” In that moment, I realized this wasn’t going to be an ordinary reading. Whatever Robert Whitlock had left behind, it was about to change everything.
