I cared for my mother through her final days, sacrificing everything to be by her side. Yet, when the will was read, I was left with nothing. The betrayal cut deep, but the truth behind her decision and the secrets that followed changed everything I thought I knew about my family—and myself.
I was driving toward my late mother’s house, the weight of her passing still heavy on my chest.
The funeral had been just last week, and now I was left to handle what remained—the hard, practical decisions that always seemed to fall on me.
Once again, I was the only rational person in our family, the one everyone relied on. It had been the same during Mom’s illness.
I stayed by her side through it all, feeding her, caring for her, making sure she wasn’t alone. I had no doubt she’d leave the house to me. Not Phoebe.
Phoebe was… complicated. She always had been. Unconventional, erratic—broken in a way that life had never quite fixed.
She couldn’t handle things the way I could. Despite how distant we were, I couldn’t stop myself from worrying about her. She was my younger sister, after all.
Beside me in the car, Dan sat silently, smelling faintly of alcohol. He’d promised me he stopped drinking, but the familiar smell told me otherwise. Honestly, I was close to my breaking point.
We pulled into the driveway, parking in front of Mom’s house. The sight of it sent a fresh pang through me. Standing outside was the lawyer I’d hired, his briefcase in hand, waiting.
“Hi,” I said to the lawyer as we got out of the car. “Why aren’t you inside?”
“It’s locked,” he replied, glancing at the house.
“Locked?” I repeated, frowning. “Phoebe isn’t here yet? She told me she’d get here early.”
I pulled my phone out, dialing her number. The call went straight to voicemail.
“Her phone’s off. Great,” I muttered, shoving it back into my pocket. I didn’t have the keys either.
Dan, standing behind me, shook his head. “Your sister, as usual. She needs a babysitter or something,” he said under his breath.
“She’ll be here soon,” I said, trying to stay calm. I shot him a firm look, daring him to say more.
Minutes later, I spotted Phoebe walking up the driveway. Her hair was messy, and her mascara streaked under her eyes. She looked like she hadn’t slept.
“Rough night, huh?” I asked, crossing my arms.
Phoebe smirked weakly. “Is it that obvious?”
Get yourself together. The lawyer’s waiting,” I said, motioning toward the house.
“Oh, please,” she scoffed, brushing past me. “We all know the house is going to you. You’re the perfect daughter, remember?”
I clenched my teeth, choosing not to react. I knew she was struggling. Mom’s death had hit her hard. People always said how much she looked like Mom.
Inside, we sat down as the lawyer began reading the will. His voice droned on until he said the words I wasn’t prepared for.
“The house and all assets go to Phoebe.”
“What?” I blurted out, staring at him. “What do you mean the house goes to Phoebe?”
“I’m just reading what’s written,” the lawyer said calmly.
“That’s not fair!” Dan erupted. “My wife was the only one who cared for their mother! She didn’t do anything!” He jabbed a finger toward Phoebe.
Phoebe shot up from her chair, her face crumbling, and ran outside.
“Dan!” I snapped at him.
What? You know I’m right,” he said, his voice still heated.
I didn’t respond. Rolling my eyes, I got up and followed Phoebe outside.
Phoebe sat on the bench in the backyard, the place Mom always loved most. She looked tired, her shoulders hunched forward, her hands fidgeting in her lap
orry about Dan,” I said, breaking the silence as I walked up to her.
“It’s fine,” she replied, her voice flat. “He’s always like that. You should leave him.”
“I can’t,” I said, sitting beside her. “He’s my husband.”
Phoebe didn’t respond. She stared ahead, her expression blank. I hesitated, then spoke again. “Sell me the house,” I said.
“What?” Phoebe turned to me, startled.
“You need money for your flower shop,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Sell it to me. I’ll tear it down and build the house I’ve dreamed of. I thought Mom would leave it to me—”
“No,” she said, cutting me off.
“What do you mean, no?” I asked, frowning.
I’m not selling the house to you. Mom left it to me,” she said, her voice rising.
“You didn’t do anything to deserve it!” I snapped, my emotions spilling over. “I cared for her. I fed her, bathed her, paid her bills. I was there when she couldn’t walk. And still, she gave it to you because you were her favorite!”
