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A half year late, it was a cold day in early March; the sky was grey and the wind harsh.
I was once again tending the slowly dying garden when I heard a shout. Looking up, I saw my older brother ride into our land on a dark grey horse and rear up. He fell off, and I rushed over to try and help him up, but he was already back on his feet and sprinting into the house. He barely glanced at me. All I could do was follow him in.
Him and my father talked quietly in the study while my sisters, my mother and I stood silently outside listening to the coversation. I took me only a moment to realise what -who- they were talking about.
My younger brother was missing.
Dread shot through me. I burst into the study despite my sisters' shouts of protest and begged them to take me to tell me everthing. And so they did.

A note was left by the rivers edge near his house saying how he cannot cope any longer. Buisiness was so slow that the money had dried up. In the note there was a will. It read:
My home and remaining money will go to my wife.
The possessions in my office will go to my brother.
To my sisters go the jewelery in the safe.
To my dearest sister, I give you my apologies. Farewell.
My dept will go to the bottom of the river along with me.