For years, I thought old Mr. Sloan existed solely to torment me. Every glare, every complaint, every petty argument felt like he lived to make my days harder. So when he dumped dirt on my roses, it felt like the final insult. I stormed outside, furious—only to learn hours later that he had died that very morning. While I was still reeling, a lawyer knocked on my door and dropped a bombshell: Mr. Continues…
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