While I Was Reading My Dad’s Eulogy, My Stepmother Sold His Favorite Car – She Turned Pale After Discovering What Was Hidden Under the Spare Tire

“Call your boss. Right now. Tell him the title is disputed, the sale is contested, and if that car moves again, the next call is to the police — and my attorney.”

“You don’t get to buy your way out of this.”

Pete blinked, then nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

I turned to Karen. “You don’t get to hide behind ‘surviving spouse’ after what you just did.”

Aunt Lucy stepped forward, loud enough for the people still drifting past.

“Karen will sign whatever the lawyer puts in front of her. Today.”

Karen opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

Pete nodded, eyes darting between us. “I’ll tell my boss the sale is frozen — and I’ll put it in writing.”

“I almost asked Dad for help last week,” I blurted, surprising myself. “I was behind on rent. I kept putting it off. Now I never can.”

“I’ll put it in writing.”

Karen met my eyes. Her mascara had run, making her look younger… and lost. “We all wanted something from him. That’s the problem, isn’t it? We just kept taking.”

I nodded, a lump rising in my throat. In the envelope, behind the letter, was a small photo—Dad and me in the garage, both laughing, grease everywhere. On the back, in his spiky handwriting: “We don’t quit on things we love.”

I found the postscript —

“That’s the problem, isn’t it? We just kept taking.”

“Hazel,