When the lawyer finished reading the will, the room went silent. Every dollar. Every account.
The house I grew up in. Four hundred thousand dollars in savings. All of it went to my sister.
I sat there, hands folded in my lap, listening as if it were someone else’s life being discussed. When the lawyer finally looked at me, waiting for a reaction, I gave a small nod. No questions.
No protests. My sister noticed. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms with a satisfied smile.
“Well,” she said lightly, “I guess this just proves what we always knew.”
I looked at her. “You were always their least favorite,” she smirked. The words stung—but only for a second.
Because in that moment, something inside me went very still. Very clear. I could have argued.
