She opened the folder and held up a will I had never seen before.
Mom and I were stunned.
“What are you talking about?” Mom asked, her voice shaking.
“She told us—she said she left it to us.”
Karen’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Well, looks like she changed her mind.”
We searched everywhere for the original will, the one Grandma had told us about. We checked the filing cabinet, her bedroom drawers, and even the attic.
Nothing. It was like it had vanished into thin air.
We thought about fighting it, of course. But Karen had money, expensive lawyers, and that smug certainty that made you feel like arguing was pointless.
So we packed up our things, each memory wrapped in newspaper and stuffed into cardboard boxes. The only home I’d ever known was gone.
She turned it into a rental within weeks.
Mom and I moved into a small cottage on the other side of town. It wasn’t much, but it was ours.
Still, I couldn’t shake what Grandma had said about the rosebush.
It had stood in the backyard for as long as I could remember, tall and proud, with blooms the color of deep wine. It was her favorite. She used to talk to it while she watered it, as if it were an old friend.
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