Sign the house over to your brother, or don’t bother coming to Mom’s funeral

I dried my hands on the dish towel Mom had embroidered with little blue herons. “Before I sign anything,” I said softly, “can I ask why?” Vanessa rolled her eyes. “Because Cole has a family, Hannah. Real responsibilities. You’re alone. You don’t need four bedrooms to feel sorry for yourself in.” Cole smirked into his coffee — my coffee, from my pot. “Don’t make this dramatic, sis. Mom would want it fair.” I nodded slowly, like I was considering it. Then I walked to the hallway drawer and pulled out a slim manila envelope. “Funny you mention fair,” I said. “Mom and I went to see Mr. Albright in February. She was lucid that whole week — his notes say so, and so does the video he recorded.” Vanessa’s face did something complicated. I slid the papers across the counter. “The house was deeded into a living trust eight months ago. I’m the sole trustee and sole beneficiary. Mom’s exact words, on camera, were: ‘Vanessa and Cole stopped being my children the day they stopped picking up the phone.'” Cole stood up so fast his chair scraped. “That’s not legal, she was sick —” “She was sick in August,” I said. “In February she was beating me at Scrabble.” I pulled out one more page. “This is the police report from last Tuesday, when you two used the spare key to take Mom’s jewelry box out of her closet. The Ring camera Mr. Albright had me install caught everything. I haven’t pressed charges. Yet.” Vanessa’s pen hand was trembling now. I picked up their quitclaim deed, folded it neatly, and dropped it in the recycling. “You can come to the funeral,” I said. “Mom wanted you there. But you’ll sit in the back, you’ll be quiet, and after the service you’ll return everything you took — including the pearl earrings I can see in your purse, Vanessa.” I opened the front door. The porch light Mom and I had picked out last spring glowed soft and gold. “The house isn’t for sale,” I said. “And neither am I.”