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The funeral came quickly, filled with formal words and distant faces. Her son arrived late, confident and untouched by grief. When the will was read, everything—her home, savings, and keepsakes—was left to him. I felt no anger, only a quiet acceptance. As people gathered afterward, he leaned toward me with a careless smile and made a remark that stung more than I expected, reducing months of care to something transactional. I said nothing. Some moments don’t deserve a response. I left the service believing that love isn’t measured by what you receive, but by what you give without expectation.
