At my grandmother’s will reading, my mother sat in front of fourteen silent people, watched the lawyer read out a $2.3 million estate that somehow included everyone but me, then turned with a smile so calm it felt practiced and said, “You were always her least favorite.” And for one humiliating second, I thought she had finally found the perfect way to erase me in public.

My father’s voice was flat and strangely controlled as he informed me that Rosalind had passed away peacefully in her sleep at the big house in Wellesley. “Your grandmother is gone, Tessa, and the funeral home will be arriving at the house at eight o’clock tomorrow morning,” Douglas said before hanging up the phone without another word.

I do not remember the drive from Worcester to Wellesley but only the blur of headlights and the overwhelming weight of grief as I realized the one person who truly loved me was gone. When I finally walked into her house, my parents and Harrison were already in the kitchen discussing logistics with a cold efficiency that felt entirely devoid of any real sadness.

I bypassed their hushed conversations and went upstairs to her bedroom where I sat on the edge of her bed and held her cool hand for the very last time. While I was mourning the loss of my best friend, I could hear the low and fast tones of my parents downstairs as they began making the phone calls that would solidify their plan for her estate.