My husband, Daniel Whitaker, sat beside me. Our eight-year-old daughter, Emily, sat between us in the navy dress she had chosen herself because she said Grandpa Robert liked “serious colors.” Her little hands were folded neatly in her lap as she tried her best to look grown-up. Family
Across the table, my mother-in-law, Patricia Whitaker, sat with the stillness of a judge. Daniel’s brother, Mark, was there with his wife, Lauren, and their three children. Daniel’s sister, Vanessa, had brought her two sons.
Everyone looked solemn.
But no one looked shocked when the lawyer, Mr. Coleman, began listing Robert’s gifts.
Robert had left money for each grandchild’s education. Mr. Coleman opened a leather folder and nodded to Patricia. She stood, reached into her handbag, and began handing out cream-colored envelopes.
One for Ethan.
One for Grace.
One for Miles.
One for Owen.
