Vanessa snapped her fingers in my face. “Are you deaf? The keys. Trevor and I are moving in by Sunday. You can take the couch cushions, since you’re so attached to handouts.” Trevor laughed. “Maybe the foster system has a return policy.” I finally looked up. “Are you sure you want the house, Vanessa? Absolutely sure?” She rolled her eyes. “I’m Mom’s blood. The house is mine by right. Stop stalling.” I nodded slowly, walked to the dining room, and pulled out the manila envelope Mom’s attorney had handed me two weeks before she passed. Mom knew. She always knew. “Then you should probably read this first,” I said, sliding it across the table. Vanessa tore it open, smirking — until her face drained white. Trevor snatched it from her. “What… what is this?” It was the deed. Re-titled eighteen months ago. Sole owner: Hannah Marie Caldwell. Along with it, a notarized letter in Mom’s handwriting. “Vanessa, you stopped visiting me the day I was diagnosed. Hannah drove four hours every weekend, bathed me, fed me, slept on the floor beside my bed. You called once — to ask about the will. The house goes to the daughter who showed up. Love always, Mom.” Vanessa’s hands shook. “This isn’t legal. She was medicated, she didn’t know what—” “She recorded the signing,” I said quietly. “Three doctors witnessed. Her attorney has the video.” Trevor exploded. “You manipulated a dying woman!” I walked to the front door and opened it. “I held her hand while she died, Trevor. You were at a golf tournament. Vanessa was getting her nails done. The funeral director called you four times before you picked up.” Vanessa’s mask cracked. “Hannah, please — we’re family —” I smiled for the first time in weeks. “Mom adopted me, Vanessa. That means she chose me. You were just born here.” I held the door wider. “Now get your cheap perfume off my mother’s porch before I call the sheriff.” They left in silence. I locked the door, slid down against it, and finally, finally, let myself cry.
