The Inheritance.

I remember the weight of his coat more than his voice.

It hung by the door every winter - wool thick at the shoulders, cuffs worn soft where his hands had worked through cold mornings long before I understood why he rose so early.

I used to slip my arms into it when no one was looking. The sleeves swallowed me whole. The hem nearly touched the floor. I’d stand there in the quiet entryway, pretending I carried what he carried…