The room exploded with laughter when they read his name.
He didn’t get cash.
He didn’t get property.
He got… a coat.
Old, worn, smelling like every memory he’d rather forget. It felt like an insult, a final cold gesture from an uncle who’d never really cared. Humiliated, he almost threw it away—until one tiny
He couldn’t shake the sting of that moment in the lawyer’s office. Everyone else left comparing numbers, bragging about what they’d gotten. He went home with a coat that felt like proof he’d never really mattered. For days it hung untouched, a reminder of every awkward family dinner, every cold stare, every word his uncle never said.
