Chapter 7 - Spring Cleaning
March arrived with crisp breezes that smelled of wet earth and melting snow, chasing away the heavy, suffocating atmosphere that had haunted our house all winter.
Lucy’s recovery was officially complete. The pediatric specialist gave her a clean bill of health, and more importantly, the nightmares that had plagued her in January had finally stopped. She was back to her bright, curious, joyful self, laughing loudly in the backyard as she helped Jenna plant early spring bulbs along the garden path.
“Are you sure we’re keeping this room empty?” Jenna asked, stepping into the guest bedroom on the main floor while holding a box of old winter decorations.
I paused, looking around the room. This was where Arthur had stayed during his occasional visits, projecting an aura of quiet dignity while secretly plotting against our family.
“We’re not keeping it empty,” I said, walking over to open the windows wide, letting the fresh March air flood the space. “We’re turning it into Lucy’s art studio. She’s been wanting a dedicated space for her canvases and paints.”
Jenna grinned, setting the box down with a satisfying thud. “That’s the best upgrade this house has ever seen. Dad would probably have a heart attack if he knew we turned his ancestral guest suite into an acrylic painting workshop.”
“Good,” I replied, feeling a profound sense of lightness settle into my chest. “Let him add that to his audit logs.”
Mark walked into the room just then, holding a heavy cardboard box sealed with industrial packing tape. He looked different than he had on Christmas morning—lighter, freer, the invisible burden he had carried his entire life finally lifted from his shoulders.
“What’s in the box?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Everything from Dad’s old study at the main house,” Mark said quietly. “The movers dropped it off a few minutes ago. The executors of the estate cleared out his office following the asset freeze. They asked what we wanted done with his personal effects.”
He set the box down on the floor.
“Are you going to open it?” Jenna asked gently.
Mark shook his head. He pulled a heavy black marker from his pocket, crossed out the original shipping label with thick, bold strokes, and wrote a single word across the top: DONATE / DISCARD.
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“No,” Mark said, looking up with a calm, resolute smile. “There’s nothing in there worth keeping. His legacy isn't in those boxes, and it isn't in his money. Our legacy is right out there in the garden, planting flowers with her aunt.”
We all looked out the large window. Down on the lawn, Lucy was kneeling beside a patch of damp earth, holding a small trowel in one hand and laughing as a Robin landed nearby on the fence.
