The letter ended with a line just for me. You kept track of my time for three years, sweetheart. I wanted to make sure you knew I noticed. Dad had also left me the house, his savings, and a list of every dialysis appointment I drove him to, in his own handwriting, with a check mark beside each one. Doug was left a single item. The replica. Aunt Rita cried when I told her.

Doug called again a month later, sober and quiet. He said he had read the engraving every night since the jewelry store. He apologized to me, then asked if he could visit Dad’s grave with me. I didn’t stop him. We stood there together in October. He took the fake watch out of his pocket, wound it, and set it on the headstone. “I guess I’m finally keeping track of time,” he said. Then he hugged me.