The garage suddenly felt too small to breathe in.
“You drove me to chemo. You cleaned me up when I couldn’t stand. You slept in hospital chairs. You missed work because I was scared to be alone.”
Behind me, Tank gave a low sigh against the concrete floor.
Dad glanced toward him and smiled faintly.
“And this old dog never left either.”
His expression softened.
“So I made the choice that let me sleep at night.”
He held up the trust paperwork.
“The house is yours now. The garage too. Everything protected legally months ago.”
Then his face grew serious again.
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