I have always been the outsider in my own family. As the youngest of five, I grew up under a shadow I didn’t create. My parents died in a horrific car accident when I was only two years old, and my siblings never let me forget that they were in that car because of me. While my brothers and sister moved away the moment they turned eighteen, fleeing the memories and the man who raised us, I stayed. I moved back in after college to care for Grandpa Walter as his steps grew slower and his hair turned to silver. I didn’t do it for an inheritance; I did it because he was the only person who ever looked at me without resentment.
When Grandpa passed away, the air in the lawyer’s office was thick with greed. My siblings sat in a row, checked out and waiting for their payout. The will was a shock to everyone. Matthew was awarded the family home. Jake received the car. Kirk and Jessica were each handed checks for twenty thousand dollars. Then, the lawyer turned to me with a pitying look. To me, Grandpa had left only his personal metal lunchbox—the same rusted, faded tin he had carried to work every single day of his life.
