I locked the documents back in the box, slid it under the floorboard, and sat by the fire. The logs hissed and cracked, filling the cabin with warmth. For the first time since Dad’s funeral, I didn’t feel like the discarded daughter. I felt like the one holding the line.
And Megan, for all her smirks and insults, was about to learn the difference between greed and strength.
The fire had burned down to glowing embers when my phone lit up again. This time it was Mom. Against better judgment, I answered.
“Hannah,” she said quietly. “Your sister is upset. She thinks you’re being hostile.”
I let out a bitter laugh.
“Hostile? She sent realtors to trespass on my land. She’s lucky all I did was kick them off.”
“She just wants to make sure the property is handled responsibly,” Mom replied, her tone clipped but careful.
“Handled responsibly,” I repeated. “By who, Mom? By the sister who called me a stinking woman in front of you, or by the daughter Dad trusted enough to leave this cabin to?”
Silence hung on the line. I could almost picture her tightening her grip on the phone, pearls gleaming at her neck like armor.