**Diary Entry**
“You’re not his real daughteryou’ve got no rights here,” my sister-in-law hissed at me during Fathers funeral. The words cut through me like a knife.
I had just placed a bouquet of white roses by the coffin when Alice turned to me with undisguised loathing. The mourners shuffled past, whispering prayers and crossing themselves, oblivious to the venom in her voice.
“Alice, please, not now,” I murmured, my throat tight. “He hasnt even been buried yet.”
“Thats right*my* father,” she spat. “His flesh and blood. And who are you? Just some stray he took in out of pity.”
I stepped back, my vision blurring. DadWilliamlay there in the crisp white shirt Id bought him just days ago, his hands folded peacefully. He could have been sleeping, but I knew hed never wake again, never ruffle my hair like he had for thirty years.
Aunt Mabel, our neighbor, frowned as she approached. “Girls, whats this? Arguing at a funeralhave you no shame?”
Alice waved her off. “Just reminding certain people of their place.”
I stood alone, surrounded by faces Id known since childhoodneighbors, colleagues, distant relativesyet Id never felt more like an outsider.
“Vera, love, are you alright?” My friend Nadine squeezed my arm.
“Thanks for coming,” I managed.
“Whats Alices problem? Shes glaring at you like youre the enemy.”
“She thinks I shouldnt be here.”
Nadine scoffed. “Rubbish! You lived with your dad since you were five. He raised you.”
I nodded, wiping my eyes. I remembered the day William brought me home from the childrens homea quiet, wiry man with a tobacco-scented jacket who showed me a tiny bedroom and said, “This is yours now.”
“Vera, come here,” Alice called suddenly.
Bracing for another blow, I followed her into the corridor of the funeral home.
“We need to talk,” she said coldly. “About the will. You understand the house and the cottage go to me, dont you? Im his real daughter.”
The words barely registered. My mind was still on funeral arrangementsthe wake, the guests.
“Alice, cant this wait?”
“No. I wont have you scheming later. Dad left no will, so by law, everything goes to *family*. Youre neither.”
“But he adopted me legally”
She sneered. “Out of charity. Now you expect half his estate?”
“I dont want the house,” I said, my voice shaking. “Just his books. The photos. The rest is yours.”
“Right. And next thing, youll drag me to court.”
Thirty years. Thirty years I’d loved him as my father, and now I was being scrubbed from his memory like an unwelcome stain.
“You know what?” I whispered. “Bury him with dignity. Then do what you want.”
Her face flushed. “*You* tell *me* how to mourn my own father?”
“Yes. Because *I* was the one who cared for him when he was ill. *I* was therenot you, with your monthly five-minute visits.”
Alices lips curled. “At least Im his *real* daughternot some orphan he scraped off the pavement!”
I turned away, my chest burning.
The next morning, rain drizzled over the churchyard as mourners gathered. Alice arrived with her husband and children, shooting me venomous glances. After the service, I rode in the first car to the cemetery, clutching red carnationsDads favorite.
At the graveside, Alice bossed everyone aboutwhere to place wreaths, how to lower the coffin. I stood silently, watching the man whod been my whole world vanish into the earth.
“Im sorry, Dad,” I whispered. “I couldnt save you.”
The wake was held at a modest pub. Id taken out a loan to cover it; Alice, who earned a fortune in finance, hadnt offered a penny.
As stories about Dad circulatedhis years as an engineer, his kindnessAunt Mabel chuckled. “Remember when he brought Vera home from the home? So tiny, so scared. He scooped her up and said, Now Ive got two girls.”
Alice stiffened. “Dad was sentimental. Always picking up strays.”
“He *loved* her,” Uncle Colin countered. “Same as you.”
Tears spilled as I rememberedthe Christmases, the bedtime stories, the way hed defended me when Alice hid my toys or shoved me. Even when my marriage collapsed, Dad had been my anchor.
Later, Alice cornered me outside. “Show me this *will*.”
I handed it over. Her face darkened as she readthe house and cottage split evenly, signed a year ago after his heart attack.
“He never told me,” she muttered.
“Maybe he knew youd fight it.”
Her laugh was brittle. “You really think a *legal paper* makes you family? Blood matters, Vera. Youre just the charity case.”
I was too tired to argue. “Challenge it in court, then.”
“Oh, I will. And until then, stay out of *my* house. Im changing the locks.”
The solicitor confirmed the will was sound, but warned the battle could drag on.
As I walked home, grief pressed down. A week ago, Id had a father. Now? Just a sister who hated me and a court date looming.
But Dad had loved me. Not out of pitybecause I was *his*. And I wouldnt let Alice erase that. Not without a fight.
