CHAPTER 9
Six months later, the bright spring sun illuminated the freshly planted blue hydrangeas lining the stone walkway leading up to my oceanfront home.
A new wooden garden fence stood strong and sturdy against the coastal breeze, surrounding the blooming rose bushes Henry had planted decades ago.
In the driveway, a simple blue pickup truck was parked beside my old sedan, its flatbed loaded with bags of organic soil and new wooden garden stakes.
Robert stepped out of the truck, wearing an old t-shirt and work boots, carrying a large thermos of sweet iced tea toward the back porch.
He had officially filed for divorce from Megan four months prior, selling their overpriced suburban home to pay off the yacht deposit debts she had accumulated.
He was currently living in a modest two-bedroom apartment in downtown Savannah, working long hours as a manager at a local logistics firm to rebuild his life from scratch.
He didn't ask me for money, he didn't ask about my estate trust, and he never mentioned the beach house inheritance ever again.
Every Saturday morning, he drove an hour to Hilton Head Island, carrying a thermos of tea, ready to spend the day helping me maintain the property.
May you like
"Morning, Mom!" Robert called out, offering me a warm, genuine smile as he walked up the porch steps carrying a shovel. "Ready to finish planting those garden beds before the afternoon heat rolls in?"
"I've been ready since six o'clock, son," I smiled, stepping down off the porch to join him in the warm Carolina sunshine.
