You’re forty-one, single, and crocheting cat sweaters in a studio apartment. Be honest

The attorney, Mr. Hollings, cleared his throat and asked if he could begin. Brielle leaned back, crossing her legs. “Please. I have a flight at four.” He opened the will. Sugar & Salt — three storefronts, the commercial kitchen on Linden Avenue, the trademark, and the recipe vault — was left in full to “my eldest daughter, Margaret Eloise Carver, who has been the silent backbone of this business since she was nineteen.” Brielle laughed once, sharp. “That’s a typo. Mom promised me the Miami expansion.” Mr. Hollings didn’t look up. “There is no typo. However, there is a second document.” That’s when I opened my folder. Inside were six years of signed operating agreements, payroll records, supplier contracts, and the LLC paperwork — all listing me as sole managing partner since Mom’s first stroke. “I’ve been running Sugar & Salt since 2019,” I said. “Mom signed everything over while she still had capacity. The will is just the ribbon on top.” Brielle’s fiancé slowly lowered his phone. “Wait. So the Miami location—” “Was never hers to promise,” I said. “But funny you mention Miami. I bought out that lease last month. I’m converting it into a culinary scholarship kitchen for single mothers. In Mom’s name.” Brielle’s face went the color of buttercream. “You can’t — I already told investors—” “You told investors you owned a company you don’t work at?” Mr. Hollings asked mildly. “That’s a securities issue, Ms. Carver.” I stood up and smoothed my thrifted blazer. At the door, I turned. “By the way, Brielle. The cat sweaters? I sell them online. Cleared ninety-two thousand last year. Mom helped me set up the shop the week before she passed. She said it was the proudest she’d ever been of me.” I left her sitting there in white Chanel, mouth open, as the attorney quietly asked if she’d like to discuss the defamation clause Mom had added — just for her.