in five minutes,” Vanessa warned.
I requested another ten minutes.
Three minutes later, they were gone.
At seventy-one, I stood stranded in the deserted cemetery with my phone and Eleanor’s favorite white roses.
Fear wasn’t what I felt. It was profound disillusionment.
Three months before, Derek had proposed putting my home in Vanessa’s name.
“Just estate planning,” he’d said. “At your age, anything could happen.”
Vanessa had offered a sugary smile.
“We’re only protecting you, Daddy.” Fatherhoodsupport network
After I declined, their warmth disappeared. They began describing me as obstinate,
