The final page was a single paragraph, and I read it aloud so every guest could hear. “My son, this house is yours on the day you marry, but only if your mother stands beside you at your wedding. If she does not, it passes to the Harbor Rebuilding Fund, which helps families who lose their homes to storms. Love is the only deed that lasts. Your father, Hugh.” Nobody breathed. Declan’s face went from red to gray.

Marguerite snatched at the paper, but my attorney, Ms. Okafor, who had been waiting inside the gate, stepped forward and held up a certified copy. “That clause is legally binding,” she said calmly. “The wedding took place without Mrs. Pearce, so the house now belongs to the fund.” Warren sank into one of the folding chairs. Sloane covered her mouth, and a murmur ran through the crowd of guests who had come to watch me surrender.