After Dad’s Funeral, They Threw My Things Out and Locked Me Out — But the Truth About the House Changed Everything
The late afternoon sun filtered weakly through the hospice window, painting the room in muted shades of gold and gray. The scent of antiseptic hung in the air, mixed with the faint aroma of wilted flowers resting on the nightstand beside my father’s bed. Machines beeped softly, keeping rhythm with his weakening heartbeat — a…