purse.
I nodded. We were planning to check on Karen on the way home.
I stepped out into the bright sunlight — and froze.
Dad’s Shelby was gone.
In its place sat a battered flatbed truck idling in the parking spot, its ramps lowered like open jaws.
I ran, my dress twisting around my legs. Karen stood at the curb wearing dark sunglasses, clutching a thick white envelope. Beside her was a man in a faded cap holding a clipboard.
“Karen! What’s happening?”
She barely turned toward me.
“Hazel, it’s just a car. The buyer’s here. I sold it. Two grand, cash. He wanted it moved fast, and so did I.”
Two thousand dollars… for thirty years of bolts, blood, and Saturday mornings.
“You can’t be serious! You knew I’d need to drive home. This isn’t what Dad… he loved that car. You knew that!”
Karen’s lip curled slightly. “Your father loved a lot of things that didn’t love him back. You’ll survive.”
Aunt Lucy’s voice cut through the lot. “Selling his legacy outside this church isn’t grief, Karen. It’s disgrace.”
The man shifted awkwardly. “Ma’am, do you want the title now or —?”
“That car isn’t just a piece of metal,” I said. “It’s a part of this family. I can’t believe you. You didn’t just sell a car. You sold the last piece of him before he was even in the ground.”
“Family changes. Get in, Hazel. I’ll give you a ride,” Karen snapped back. “You know, your father would have understood.”
I stood my ground, feeling the world tilt beneath me.
“Not without answers, Karen. Not today.”
I wanted to hate her. I needed her to be simple — greed with a face I could point at. But the way her hands trembled around that envelope told me this wasn’t just theft. It was panic. And panic pushes people into irreversible choices.
Maybe grief makes monsters. But she chose the lie. She chose today.
I watched the flatbed truck turn the corner, the Shelby’s silhouette shrinking farther and farther away. I pressed my palms against my knees, fighting the urge to scream.
All week I had told myself: just get through the funeral, then things will settle.
Instead, everything I had left of my father was disappearing down the road.
Aunt Lucy hovered beside me, gripping her purse tightly. “Hazel, come sit down. You’re shaking.”
I sank onto the curb, elbows resting on my thighs, head bowed. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Karen pacing along the edge of the lot, sunglasses off now, her jaw set tight.
For a moment I thought she might just leave, but instead she wandered toward the cemetery gate, staring at the line of fresh flowers surrounding Dad’s new grave.
I fidgeted with my house keys. My phone buzzed — a friend asking if I needed a ride home, someone else sending a photo from the service.
I ignored them.
My chest burned with regret. Maybe if I had argued harder with Karen or brought the title with me or—
A tear slid down my cheek. I wiped it away and glanced over as Karen crouched beside Dad’s headstone. Her lips moved quietly. Maybe she was praying, maybe apologizing… maybe both.
Could I offer the buyer more money? Call the police?
I felt completely helpless.
Karen rose slowly, brushing dirt from her skirt. She didn’t look at me as she walked back — her eyes were red and her cheeks blotchy.
For a brief moment, I saw the woman Dad had tried so hard to love, not just the woman who had sold his car.
Before I could stand, a silver sedan rolled into the parking lot, its tires crunching over gravel. The driver — a young guy with grease under his nails — jumped out holding a sealed plastic bag, looking uneasy.
“Are you Hazel?” he asked, glancing between Karen and me. “Buyer wanted a quick inspection of the Shelby before he signed the final paperwork. We were told to meet him here. We found this. The boss said you needed to see it first.”
