I pressed the paper to my chest. Michael had carried that burden alone and never allowed it to reach me.
The next morning I had a meeting at the lawyer’s office. Aunt Sammie called earlier that day.
“Maybe we should arrive together,” she suggested. “Family should sit together.”
“You never sat with us before,” I replied.
When she arrived at the office, she greeted the attorney warmly and kissed my cheek. Her pearls and pink lipstick made her look polished and gentle.
During the reading of the will, she dabbed her eyes when others looked her way.
When the lawyer finished, I stood up.
“I’d like to say something.”
The room fell silent.
“You didn’t lose a sister when my mom died,” I told her. “You lost control.”
Someone at the table let out a stunned laugh.
The attorney cleared his throat and confirmed Michael had preserved letters connected to a custody dispute.
I explained that I knew about the threats, the lawyers, and her attempts to take me away.
“Michael didn’t have to raise me,” I said. “But he chose to. He wasn’t assigned the role of father—he earned it.”
Sammie looked away.