…a small rolled-up piece of paper tucked inside the hollow base.
My anger froze.
I carefully opened it.
It was Dad’s handwriting.
Kate,
If you’re reading this, it means you did exactly what I hoped — you broke the board.
My hands trembled.
You were always the only one patient enough to finish a game with me. And smart enough to think three moves ahead.
Tears blurred the ink.
Lara wanted the house. She made that clear more than once. I gave her what she wanted — walls and furniture. But I’m giving you what matters.
I grabbed the rest of the pieces and started checking them. Several felt heavier than the others.
Inside the king piece, there was a tiny key.
Inside two rooks, more folded notes.
The final note read:
The safety deposit box is under your name. The key you’re holding opens it. Everything inside is yours. Not as payment — because you never treated me like a burden — but because you loved me when I was hardest to love.
My knees gave out.
The next morning, I went to the bank.
The box contained Dad’s savings account documents, investment bonds, and the deed to a small lake cabin I’d never even heard about.
Everything was in my name.
More than the house was worth.
But that wasn’t what broke me.
There was one last envelope.
Inside it was a photo of us playing chess when I was ten. On the back, he’d written:
You were never second place.
I cried harder than I had at the funeral.
Weeks later, my sister called, furious. The house had major repairs she couldn’t afford. Taxes were higher than she expected. “Dad set me up!” she complained.
I didn’t argue.
Dad didn’t set her up.
He just knew the difference between wanting something…
…and earning it.
I placed the repaired chessboard on my shelf.
And for the first time since he passed, I smiled.
He’d made his final move.
And I understood it perfectly.
