was. No guilt or hesitation, only certainty.
“Be a good sister for once,” Evelyn added.
And there was the role I had played my whole life: the reliable one, the one who adjusted, the one who made everything work. They expected an argument. I gave them none.
Instead, I walked past them, went straight down to the basement, and headed behind several storage bins. I knelt beside a floor panel that didn’t quite match the others. Still there. Good.
I lifted it carefully. The safe sat exactly where I had left it. I entered the code, and it clicked open. Inside, protected by a waterproof sleeve, was one folder containing the original deed. Not in Richard’s name. Not in a shared family trust. Mine. Transferred years earlier, quietly and legally, by my grandfather.
Upstairs, I heard movement and laughter. They thought this house belonged to them. They had no idea.
